ROSEWOOD, Ornaments And Graces For Acoustic Guitar, Volume One

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Bill's personal view of the album's development and its place within his work:-

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"I'd considered making an acoustic guitar based album for some time... but an instrumental one that would comfortably sit alongside such projects as 'The Romance Of Sustain,' 'Plaything' and 'Dreamland To Starboard.' I also wanted to avoid the obvious 'unplugged' approach. You know the kind of thing I mean, that faintly commercial, middle class, faux-folksy, nouveau-puritanical, rootsy methodism, with its slyly manipulative suggestion of a kind of 'backwoods/backwards' naivety... the easy seduction of an unsophisticated, barefoot girl outside a log cabin with her Ma and Pa away in town to buy feed for the chickens. Or maybe the rustic lure of big beards and banjos, overalls, oil stains and tobacco, the romantic refuge of city boys stricken by an identity crisis. Not that I haven't consciously employed such notions of whimsy within my own music in the past. And I've certainly purchased and enjoyed my own fair share of those kind of albums, authentic or otherwise. So, I'm not coming down heavy on the Hollywood Hillbilly Hordes here. What I'm trying to say is that I wanted to bring something else to this project, other than its essential declaration of woody 'acoustic-ness.'

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In one sense 'Rosewood' is a reversal of older confabulations, (look it up, it doesn't exist), that easy thrill of taking technology and applying primitivist attitudes to it... old hat now, (and for some time too). Not that approach, definitely not, but a slightly different one.

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From these hesitant attempts to rationalise my methods, you might surmise that Rosewood was deliberately set aside, conceptualised, cut, dried and prepared, before I even tuned my guitar. As if the hatching of a concept was the alpha and omega of the thing. This wasn't quite the case. I may often begin in such a manner but the music inevitably demands its own violent deviation from such restrictions. It inevitably throws a curve ball.

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Of course, I always have the option to adhere to the original narrow remit or ignore it completely. I could profitably pursue the clear-cut track of the super-disciplined, minimalist aesthete, or actually have fun and play around with whatever the void throws up. Some would view the latter as a lazy approach but they'd be wrong. It's tougher dealing with the freedom to run anywhere at all in a field, rather than to walk down some pre-ordained white line. The more options available, the harder the task. It can go either way or otherwise. And 'otherwise' is often the best. Just the sheer sensuousness of playing and hearing it play back provides all the joy that I need or would wish to convey... Just because it's there for me and it's mere existence appears beautiful and an accidental miracle of sorts. But... aren't all miracles accidental, God being dead, (other than in the fevered imaginations of the devout?) Despite my half-hearted resistance, I've more than often found that 'going with the flow' leads to far more vital and potent results than pursuing the established art magazine, bourgeois affectations so beloved of the chattering classes... slick, over controlled hang-overs from English '80's Thatcherism. Such restrictive attitudes, to me, are nothing more than cliched expressions of fashion as fascism, (and so on ad nauseum). Music for anal-retentives? Well, suburban coffee table, dinner-party aesthetics are generally guaranteed to bring out the rebel in me. And the boorish, anarchist iconoclast. But then, I'm bound to be biased, aren't I?

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Anyway... back to the act of ART and all its absolutely irrelevant, transcendent perversions, the stuff we love and adore: Each time I begin an act of music making, I'm presented with a multitude of options. So many different angles and approaches and obsessions, all competing for my time and energy. Another cliche, perhaps, but: The artist's lot isn't so much to create, as to choose. He is adrift in a whirlpool of possibilities. It is a fierce place. 'Choose' is perhaps a misleading term in this instance. To cast the dice, is probably more apt.

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I am, on the one hand, just a simple guitar player with only one song to sing. On the other, I'm a reasonably well read, thoughtful, self-injurious, open-minded, poetically motivated, conceptually aware artist with selfishly personal, troubled and complex ideas to explore, (or 'issues to resolve,' to put it in pop-psychoanylitical terms). Or, on the other hand, (Oh, yes, I have three, you know), I'm simply in love with the sound of music, the physical feel of a guitar and the crackle and fizz and superficial beauty of my own gossamer thoughts and dreams. The latter, most probably. Or perhaps all of the above. Delete according to taste.

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With 'Rosewood' I wanted to take a basic, 'primitive' acoustic guitar and deal with it as if it was an electric instrument. This isn't to say that Rosewood is an experimental work. That old Jean Cocteau thing of 'taking a line for a walk' doesn't necessarily denote a dive into uncharted waters... Music's well-mapped oceans are pretty much over-fished anyway. The notion of 'newness' is as much a conservative concept as 'traditionalism.'

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An establishment perpetuated myth. Pop-Radicalism is rarely new, only like shifting sand, formed by tides of time and place and commerce, rather than absolute cultural need. Often nothing more than the kind of metaphysical lies touted by snake-oil salesmen, hoping to seduce their customers with the heady perfume of miracles and danger. A pirated, fake Chanel, mixed from sour and stale ingredients, masked with vanilla. It wasn't always so...

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Despite all this nebulous talk of here and there, now and then, Rosewood may be perceived by some to be fundamentally, deliciously retrogressive. Also, pretty, attractive, charming, mellow... . The plink, plonk, twang of nostagia.

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I cheerfully admit it has much to do with memory and nostalgia... but it remembers a past that never actually existed. The whole thing is a figment of imagination, a chimera, a fantasy projected in Disneyesque pastels. It may appear odd and alien to those few who encountered a head-scratching moment as a result of some of the acoustic interludes on my earlier albums, or to those who still hanker after amped-up '70's guitar heroisms.

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It may certainly appear odd to those who are a little too young, old, or insular to have explored the kitsch technicolour fringes of retroland, the lush meadows of English pastoralism, the smokey blue neon of '50's soho jazz clubs, the whirr and gleam of Post-Victorian fairy's wings, the rattle, bang and zoom of tin-can rocketships, the fairground colours of canal narrow-boats, the white hot hiss of steam trains, the warm, glowing golden static of Mullard valves in old radios, the Orson Welles-blessed zither's of Eastern Europe, the eternal attraction of a box of Lakeland coloured pencils alongside crisp, blank, white sheets of paper, the inevitable melancholy of impeding old age and autumn, the remembrance of youth and its follies, the tiny diamonds in snow, just after falling, the stars that shine through windows at night after love and sex, the church bells that drift over meadows and frame the first cuckoo of spring, the winding stream that sings and ripples and dazzles a bumblebee's eyes in summer, the bluebells that swoon beneath trees and perfume my dreams, the clouds that shift, change and form the faces of family ghosts in an August blue sky, the sound of my fingers on the strings of an acoustic guitar, the hum of a broken effects unit... All this, is my Rosewood and more. And Rosewood, in case you hadn't spotted it, is also the name of the most typical wood used in the construction of the fretboards of acoustic guitars. As above, so below. It's all surface and as deep as a wishing well."

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BILL NELSON. APRIL 2005