Withered Hand

In only a couple of years, Withered Hand have profited heavily from enthusiastic word-of-mouth promotion by their fans and a passionate love affair with Scotland's music bloggers. Little wonder, then, that tonight's home-town show at Electric Circus has drawn a healthy crowd. Mindful of an expectant audience, singer-songwriter Dan Wilson is all business as he takes the stage, rolling up his sleeves and conferring studiously with his supporting cast. Wilson has a firm local reputation as an eminently likeable fellow, and his amiable bantering with the crowd—a consistent feature tonight—sets an easy tone for the evening. “I've got a cold and I'm losing my voice,” he says, in the nasal tones which have become his trademark. “But there's no refunds.”
Theirs is a joyously ramshackle take on folk music, close in spirit to New York's anti-folk scene, and offers a far more compelling live experience than traditional acoustic troubadours. Technical flaws threaten to derail proceedings at first: on 'I Am Nothing' and 'New Dawn', much of the texture and heart of Wilson's voice is sapped by a tinny microphone, while 'Providence' is halted in seconds by the cacophonously over-amped drums.
However, these quickly prove to be passing concerns. 'Cornflake' gives Wilson and backing vocalist Neil Pennycook (he of Meursault fame) free rein with the vocal harmony, while 'Religious Songs' is a predictable highlight, with its sleazily introspective lyrics and a chorus built for singalongs. A late personnel change, as Pennycook leaves the stage and cellist Hannah Shepherd picks up a bass, heralds the debut of some new material in a garage-rock vein. It's a curveball from a folk band, but the sense of urgency and scuzzy instrumentation works remarkably well. Withered Hand are a friendly, polished live spectacle, and tonight lends ample credence to their burgeoning reputation as one of Edinburgh's best new acts. - Fest Magazine

Edinburgh songwriter Dan Willson lives in the shadow of Neil Young… or maybe in the shadow of a Neil Young clone who might ‘get trashed on tonic wine’ (I Am Nothing) before straying into Frightened Rabbit’s lyrical territory to work religious references into forthright love songs set in a secular world. Musically, to pick another by no means overstated comparison, Willson is a one-man Fleet Foxes with a voice that, one moment, sounds on the brink of collapse; the next, is filled with humour, emotion and self-knowledge. It is quite some time since a debut release has placed 10 such perfect songs back to back. Yes, the influences are obvious, but this is the album Neil Young wishes he could still make. - The Herald

Deceptively downhome 10 tracker, part-funded by the Scottish Arts Council

Fans of Viking Moses ‘Crosses’ and Sufjan Stevens ‘Seven Swans’ will warm to the rustic instrumentation and visionary undertow of Edinburgh’s Withered Hand. And at times on this impressive debut Dan Willson’s alter ego attains the celestial lustre of that holy grail of lapsed evangelical folk nouveau, the first Palace Brothers album. The individual lines which jump out on first hearing – from the sardonic “Why did Nirvana ever bother to play here?” to the frankly disconcerting “I beat myself off when i sleep on your futon” – settle back luxuriously on subsequent listens into beautifully constructed lyrical frameworks. And while Withered Hand may lack the commercial clout of previous Scottish Arts Council beneficiaries Snow Patrol and Belle and Sebastian, converts to his banjo-tinged brand of Caledonian gospel will sing its praises with a zeal worthy of John Calvin. - MOJO Magazine

Withered Hand is not, alas, a Jeremy Beadle tribute band. It is, however, the nom de plume of Edinburgh alt.folk messiah Dan Willson – and for said dude we should give thanks.

Willson is a curious pop disciple: a deadpan bard eternally vexed by the doctrines of God, the inconsequence of life, and the transparent nature of modern swimwear. Good News, his gorgeous debut album, delivers a compendium of warped-rock sermons that variously reference Seventh-day Adventism (‘Cornflake’); lyrical post-rationalisation (‘For the Maudlin’); and knocking one out on your paramour’s couch (‘Religious Songs’, his signature anthem).

Despite his dedication to a DIY cause that’s seen Withered Hand galvanise Edinburgh’s live terrain and perform with Jeffrey Lewis and Calvin Johnson, Willson’s quavering vocals and acoustic eulogies elicit heavy-hitters Bright Eyes (on woebegone porch-swing opener ‘Providence’) – and even Neil Young at times.
Fans will recognise much of Good News: previous Withered Hand singles feature, but they’re (needlessly) tweaked by producer Kramer (Low, Daniel Johnston). Hence deficit aria ‘No Cigarettes’ surrenders some of its vulnerability, while a refinement of ‘Religious Songs’ misplaces the hymn’s initial scrabbly desperation.

This is a minor quibble. Willson’s sing-a-long afflictions and satirical narratives are marvellous. ‘Lord… won’t you listen to me, your unfaithful servant’s filthy fucking language’, he importunes on ‘Love in the Time of Ecstasy’, a sonorous ‘so-what’ to the hereafter.

‘In the greater scheme of things, I am nothing’, he later claims – which just goes to show that, despite being splendid, Withered Hand is not always right. - The List

Some of our favorite songs of 2008 – I Am Nothing – A little self-pity every now and then never hurt anyone. - McSweeneys

Some of our favorite songs of 2008 – I Am Nothing – A little self-pity every now and then never hurt anyone. - McSweeneys

Okay, I’ll admit it: on first listen, the odds look steep. Scratchy vocals which could at best be described as eccentric, lo-fi production; lyrics which reference loneliness, depression, religious guilt and masturbation… Withered Hand is hardly a mass-market proposition.

A listen to debut album Good News however reveals an accomplished singer-songwriter in his Sunday best, face washed and long hair tucked behind ears. It’s just as clever, just as raw – but laced with moments of sublime singalong harmony which couldn’t help but raise a smile in the grumpiest of judging panels.
Every one of these lists needs a singer-songwriter, and you’d be hard placed to find a better one in Scotland than Dan Willson. Antony and the Johnsons’ strangled frog vocals took the Mercury crown, Badly Drawn Boy strummed and hummed his way to the prize – if there was any justice, Withered Hand should too. - The Scotsman's Under The Radar blog

Okay, I’ll admit it: on first listen, the odds look steep. Scratchy vocals which could at best be described as eccentric, lo-fi production; lyrics which reference loneliness, depression, religious guilt and masturbation… Withered Hand is hardly a mass-market proposition.

A listen to debut album Good News however reveals an accomplished singer-songwriter in his Sunday best, face washed and long hair tucked behind ears. It’s just as clever, just as raw – but laced with moments of sublime singalong harmony which couldn’t help but raise a smile in the grumpiest of judging panels.
Every one of these lists needs a singer-songwriter, and you’d be hard placed to find a better one in Scotland than Dan Willson. Antony and the Johnsons’ strangled frog vocals took the Mercury crown, Badly Drawn Boy strummed and hummed his way to the prize – if there was any justice, Withered Hand should too. - The Scotsman's Under The Radar blog

IF YOU didn’t know that Withered Hand was an Edinburgh-based troubadour, you might fancy that Dan Willson hails from the Catskill Mountains or Laurel Canyon, so exquisitely mournful is his take on country music. He displays all the tremulous vocal vulnerability of Neil Young in a set of brittle songs which are full of spiritual yearning, questioning and contentment, inspired by his Christian upbringing.
While most of Good News sounds like it was conceived on a front porch or round a campfire, it also encompasses the hectic lo-fi indie strumming of New Dawn, the rockier strains of Joy and the bittersweet charm of Religious Songs (”my hair’s getting too long for this congregation”). Worth sharing. - The Scotsman