Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating * * * *

The cry of help that filters through the dark, the sense of being left to determine one’s own fate and sharing even the darkest, most bitter thought with a crowd, that’s part of the ethos of the Blues and it is what carries the lovers of the strong tidal wave of emotions into the arms of an aficionado who can capture their dreams and blow them into the security of a loving song by a tremendous Band.

For Kris Barras the declaration of I Don’t Want The Blues may resonate with many, yet without it, life somehow seems to be missing a vital component, a reason in which the stirrings of empathy are tasted and shared, for the Blues has a habit of making people realise just how insignificant the world is, just how small and fractured life can be, and whilst pop tends to put a smile on the face and beat in the shoes, it cannot replace the fact that The Blues, when it comes calling for you, is sincere and full of gravitas.

The Blues is raw, sometimes crude, but never knowingly unrefined and in Kris Barras it roars with emotion, it screams but with the gentleness of spirit, like a lion who has found himself falling in love with a lamb, it will ward of predators to keep it safe, but roll over and play with natural abandon when the sensitivity knocks, Kris Barras knows when to reign in the notes and when to allow the animalistic flourish to take control.

With songs such as In Too Deep, the excellent Rocky Road, the aforementioned I Don’t Want The Blues and the killer finale of Crank Up all giving in to the cycle of cool and unabashed,  the self titled album delivers a coup de grace, an album that stretches the imagination and which with the aid of Ricky Mitchell and Jon Perrin, is the epitome of Blues, one that stands up proudly to declare that the listener might not want the Blues, but is chosen with selective care to appreciate it fully.

Ian D. Hall