In a world of genres and sub-genres, labels and pigeonholes, Jimmy’s music reminds us that once you strip back the journalistic jargon, the post-this and that-core, the fashionable moniker and the industry marketing, if what is left is worth keeping, then you might as well just call it music. Okay, folk music if you like. Roots music at a push. But it is the wonderful simplicity of his songs that cut through all of the corporate crap and get us back to the essence of what music is. A tune, a story and an engaging delivery, if a song needs anything more than that you have to question what you are trying to do here.
What Jimmy is trying to do is entertain, something he does effortlessly with his mandolin driven jaunty grooves, understated balladry and infectious tunes. At his most effervescent, such as You and Me, he offers up engaging Paul Simon vibes but for the most part there is something quintessentially British in his ragged troubadour ways whether lamenting the demise of his Campervan on End of The Road or reflecting on the life of a musician on the title track.
Honesty is something in short supply in the world today, especially in the way the music industry is currently structured but Jimmy’s music reminds us of a simpler, less artificial way of doing things. Of music for music’s sake, of direct communication and an unfussy, unadorned way of writing songs. Some artists seem to think that the more tricks and gimmickry you pile on to a song, the more noticeable it will be. Thankfully we have Jimmy Lee Morris who in just a handful of songs proves exactly the opposite to be true.