The Joy Of Nothing – Foy Vance

Northern Irish songwriter Foy Vance returns after six years with an album that's dark, emotional, hopeful and worth the wait.

It feels like a lifetime has passed since the release of Foy Vance‘s ‘Hope’ in 2007. In a recent documentary Foy talked candidly about how his new songs are date stamps or memory makers in what’s been quite a tumultuous year for the Bangor native. ‘Hope’ was a record which still takes me back to a dark place and offers only glimpses of occasional light. I know where you’re coming from Foy and as you tentatively recorded ‘Joy Of Nothing’, I am tentatively testing out the waters before complete submersion in the sound.

Ten songs doesn’t sound like a lot. From time to time I DJ and play my way through dozens of other people’s records without a second thought. These ten songs have been agonisingly pondered, reworked, written, scribbled out, reordered and most likely scrapped and rebirthed. ‘Paper Prince’, ‘Feel For Me’ and ‘It Was Good’ hark back to the sound of 2007. The emotional wobble of Foy’s voice in that higher register, harmonies, looped guitar and hooks that’ll have a live audience still singing long after the music fades. It’s good but it’s only the first step on a road which will take us from Ireland to the remote Scottish Highlands and onto the deep south of the USA.

The title track ‘Joy of Nothing’ is full of Irish soul, Belfast heartache and bar room philosophies. It’s the first track to really tug on the heartstrings without schmalz or saccharine. It’s a love song without being a lovely song. It’s dark and laden with those old tried and tested Vance themes of despair and hope. It sets a marker for the remainder of the album. These tales are no easy listen but tales that need to be told.

Foy Vance

Foy’s had quite a year and we’re living those moments with him in a little under forty five minutes. It’s intense. A choir joins in the fray on ‘At Least My Heart Was Open’ but there’s no oh happy day, handclaps or hallelujahs. If there is, it’s of the cold and broken type Cohen told us of. The resentment and anger is clear, punctuated with crescendos of strings and cymbal crashes. They’re the new staple of the Vance repertoire. Percussion and strings are in and at times it feels the old vocal aerobics are reined back, letting the story and the tune come to the fore. It’s a clear move from the pounding opening notes of ‘Closed Hand, Full Of Friends’. Piano chords thump along with your heartbeat. There’s something very Springsteen about it all and that’s no bad thing.

While past reviews of Foy have compared him to the likes of Van Morrison, there’s a lot more of an Americana vibe about this record. On ‘Regarding Your Lover’ there are moments which are beautifully and dangerously close to Glen Campbell. ‘Janey’ is almost a folk-punk record. With one of those names that’s right up there with Ruby’s and Mary’s and other two syllabled women popular on the highways of the southern states, this cuts a bit of an acoustic punk rhythm and the oh, there are those glorious drums again like a whiskey bottle crashing on a bar room floor.

You’ve got it by now. The musicianship on this album is astounding. The backing band are as vital here as the E-Street lads are to The Boss. You feel that every musician has been cleverly hand picked for the team as is clearly the case with the two named collaborators with Bonnie Raitt and Ed Sheeran guesting on ‘You and I’ and ‘Guiding Light’ respectively. Raitt has been around a long time and lends some old cynicism and subtle harmonies adding a little bit of Nashville swagger to proceedings. This is the song that’ll play when you’re cruising down a freeway with rain pelting on the windscreen and tears rolling down your face.

‘Guiding Light’ features the younger but arguably more contemporarily recognisable Ed Sheeran. A lesser album would have milked this and my inner cynic would have expected it but the inclusion here is from an artist sharing a mutual love of the art form and a respect for a road weary touring companion. The Sheeran parts are small and subtly done. Perhaps he’s the light to Foy’s darkness. This is the moment that makes sense of the entire record. It’s been a long dark road we’ve travelled both on this album and in the six year build up. Whether you’ve reached for the Communion wine or the Bushmills whiskey, there’s a tale to tell, a song to be sung and a record to play. Make it this one.