Nothing could be further from the truth, as this, in fact, is a staggeringly ambitious piece of work which seemingly strives to reach for and grasp the very "essences" of these poetic writings, and express them musically. Williamson has enlisted the talents of four remarkable musicians in this task. Mat Maneri: viola, violin; Mick Hutton: double bass; Paul Dunmall: tenor and soprano saxophones, clarinet, border pipes, ocarina, moxeno and Ale Moller: mandola, lute, hammered dulcimer, shawm, clarino, flutes and vibraphone. Williamson contributes harp, guitar and whistles, and, of course, his voice, which can be convincingly classified as a musical instrument whether he's singing or speaking.

What's abundantly clear from the outset is that poems like (Blake's) "The Price of Experience" or (Whitman's) "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry," cannot (and should not) be chopped up into "convenient" verse structures or easily accessible song metres. Instead, the music is improvised (with seemingly telepathic intuition), to the words. In this respect, Williamson is following a very "traditional" route, one that's been applied by singers of the "big" narrative ballads for donkey's years. That being said, this isn't what one might expect of a "folk" record (insofar as such a thing can be defined), but rather a genuinely unique artistic fusion.

There are certainly more than a few reassuringly familiar "Celtic" touches here, along with Balkan, Indian and Middle - Eastern influences, and a (perhaps) surprisingly effective dollop of free-jazz. Now and again there are clear, tantalizing glimpses of Williamson's previous works, before they grow, shrink or mutate into something unexpectedly new. "Infant Joy" sees Williamson briefly employing the aforementioned spoken word and hypnotic harp style of "Five Bardic Mysteries," and the like, while "West From California's Shores," re-kindles fond memories of The Merry Band. "Abstinence Sows Sand," and "The Journey," come on like The Incredible String Band, before a soaring tenor and a skittering bass work their Mojo and turn it into "The Incredible String Band meet up with John Coltrane's group for a jam in the library." This, it transpires, is actually a very fine idea!

I'll come clean and admit that I've never been a fan of purely improvised jazz. Like many folks, I've always found the music too "confusing" and found myself longing for the simplicity of pure melody. What marks this album as a remarkable exception is the simple fact that these improvisations occur not around a musical theme, but a literary one. This is, after all, "Songs and Settings of Whitman, Blake and Vaughan," and it's their words, rather than the self-evident virtuosity of the musicians that primarily informs these performances. Perhaps I should elaborate further, as "their words" shouldn't be taken to mean simply the sentence structure, rhythm or order on the page, but their actual meanings. This, above all, is what Williamson, Maneri, Dunmall, Moller and Hutton are musically interpreting. When, in "The Four Points Are Thus Beheld," the warm embrace of a hammered dulcimer is rudely interrupted by a wild, dissonant blast of saxophone, the listener's sense of utter musical incongruity is offset by it's total appropriateness to the meaning.

There's been a huge growth in the sales of "audio books," over the last few years, driven, apparently, by a mass desire to "get a bit of poetry" without going to all the effort of actually reading it. Folks usually buy these recordings to play in their cars on long journeys. Try that with Skirting The River Road, and you're likely to cause a major road traffic accident. Rather than providing a "soft option" for recalcitrant "bibliophobes," this recording both demands a great deal from the listener, and delivers new rewards with each, repeated listening.

[Stephen Hunt]