Lins & Ford: Lonely Shadow (1986)

This post might be shorter on info than what I’m accustomed to adding, but it’s not for lack of trying. Lins & Ford’s Lonely Shadow, a record with a miniscule pressing, released decades ago on an independent German label set outside of Dortmund, doesn’t particularly lend itself to much (if any!) information to sift through. But what a record it is. Largely an album consisting of torch ballads and slippery ambient vocal jazz, Lonely Shadow sounds like what would happen if Christine McVie found herself in some exurb of Dortmund, nursing a personal, emotional bender, backed by a session group of ECM musicians trying to suss her out of her funk. It’s the unlikeliest of combinations, but surprisingly, here, it exists and it works.

Lins & Ford was the brainchild of English jazz vocalist Dianne Ford and German fretless bassist Manfred Lins. Taking a detour from the truly experimental, free jazz that their parent label Aufruhr Records normally trafficked in. In 1986, they convened together to explore the softer side of contemporary music. Things we’re now rediscovering as actually quite good – in the right measures: AOR, soft rock, Country, and fusion.

The thing is, on Lonely Shadow, they never completely lose their core center in the more outre influences they’re coming from. Particularly noticeable is Manfred Lins appreciation of the role Jaco Pastorius played in Joni Mitchell’s music. Acting as both foil and protagonist, his sinewy, melodic bass playing plunders all sorts of technique to make whatever arrangement it’s in just sound straight up unique and amorphous. On songs like “Tell Tale Heart” and “Lonely Shadow” you can imagine the ambient modal jazz of Europe trying to twist itself into a more immediate, Pop form. The success they have doing so, I attribute as much to Manfred’s playing as it is to Dianne’s elegant and tasteful mid-range vocals.

Never trying to oversing or to go beyond her range needlessly, Dianne’s lingering and longing vocal tone, reminds me of the same refined vocals Sade and Christine McVie were masters at. There’s a sophistication of thought and musicality that’s just perfect for the minimalist music. Imagine the reggae-meets-C60 jangle of the title track without her. Then, imagine a tour de force ballad like “Lazy Day” without her immediate and surprisingly powerful little tweaks and builds.

Deeply Balearic, and sounding like the windswept embers of all sorts of other poignant west coast ballads, it gathers them up and gives them their final, moonlit absolution. It’s blue music, that once heard, strikes a very touching point, that’s rare to find elsewhere. You can go back and appreciate Dianne’s falsetto sneaking or cracking through, like this is the only time she needed to go there, for good reason, as it was something needed to dot the period on such a personal song.

“We hope, that listening to this LP gives you not only the moving pictures that we saw, but also the fun and laughter we had in making it.” Those are the words written in the back cover to give you an idea of the thought process behind it. Rather than just absorb the music of the previously maligned styles, Lins & Ford try to absorb the symbolism and give it back, perhaps, in a way that was only hinted at before. A song like “Wise Man” which wouldn’t sound out of place in some forgotten Southern Rock record, gains different wings, as its edges get increasingly more hazy and freer.

The flipside, beginning with “Humble Maid”, finds them taking the cues of Hejira-era Joni to their own bit of Rheinland where gentles strums of acoustic guitar revel in some heavy bottom that outre string arrangements and (once again) intricate bass lines can only add. Playful and written with care, as the rest of the album unwinds in more of the same fashion, one wonders what to make of it and why little else sounds like this. So relaxed and inviting, there’s a strong undercurrent behind this gem. It’s special air-conditioned music for those last, dog days of summer.

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