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Richard Dawson, "Ornithology"
Having been lucky enough to have heard this track live, my appetite for a recorded version was finally sated when "Ornithology" arrived on the arse-end of a compilation's otherwise appalling attempt to show of the best of the North East's new talent. Armed only with an acoustic guitar, light fingered percussion and a sweetly coarse growl, Richard Dawson shines through the lumpen singer-songwriter tag.
The gregarious melancholy and eye moistening turn of phrase are still present, even if his voice is now a little ocean weathered and saddened since the spark-eyed melancholy of 2005's Sings Songs and Plays Guitar. Where other artists mine their lives for songs only to maul them into genericisms, Richard Dawson achingly strings this song with clearly personal details of his life. Despite this, his writing doesn't feel the least bit didactic or dogmatic, it feels more human than most. The forced verbosity of some lines just gives the song an even bigger personality. "Ornithology" is a stream of incidents laced together by birds, beginning with a tale of finding a dying seagull and touching on his grandfather's POW-installed dislike of rice. Lyrics this explicitly personal often fall foul of their own quirks, but Dawson's simplicity, idiosyncratic cadence and homespun beauty make this a touching, cracked thing of delight.
