WHEN Richard Brautigan, probably the greatest American writer of the 
        last 30 years, died in 1984, all the obituaries could find to say about 
        him was The Beatles were fans of his. Praise by association 
        must be niggling Martyn Bates these days, as one half of Eyeless In Gaza 
        who produced at least two stellar albums in the early Eighties, but are 
        now chiefly remembered for writing a song that The Pale Saints named themselves 
        after.
      Last years Love Smashed On A Rock saw Bates on his 
        best form for some while, a collection of magical folk-based love songs 
        that became a much fawned-over item in Belgium, Germany and parts of darkest 
        Croydon. On Letters To A Scattered Family Martyn has stuck 
        with the same producer, Paul Sampson of Primitives fame, and taken the 
        best part of Love Smashed, twisted and distorted them, and 
        come up with something seven times better. This time the folk undercoat 
        has been overlaid with a mixture of musical styles so varied its 
        positively schizophrenic.
      The troubadour approach is still evident of much of Letters; 
        City All Of Strangers is straight from Parsley Sage 
        Rosemary And Thyme, while For Love, Waiting To Die lightens 
        the downbeat lyric with some singularly pretty Christmas bells. Elsewhere 
        its a very different story, Snow Rages is huge, a six-and-a-half 
        minute opus with shifting tectonic plates of phased guitars, psychotic 
        harmonica, and an Oriental music box of a verse. Your Jewelled Footsteps 
        is more bizarre still: a pneumatic drill rhythm section lurks beneath 
        a looming black cloud of a melody that mutates into a chorus reminiscent 
        of Paul Ankas Diana. The most incredible thing about 
        this juxtaposing of musical genre and instruments as diverse as clarinet, 
        banjo and feedback is that it works.
      Two things hold the songs in place. Sampsons production on the 
        last LP tended towards black and white passages of apocalyptic guitar 
        not always sitting easily alongside pitterpat acoustics, but on Letters 
        hes blurred the edges, softened the joins so that the pieces fall 
        perfectly into place. Secondly theres Martyn Bates voice while 
        far removed from the sandpaper-in-the-brain wailing of early Eyeless its 
        still remarkably intense, a compelling instrument. Simply, it oozes emotion.
      Martyn Bates has carved himself a niche in music so distinctive yet so 
        out on a limb that its hard to pinpoint who Letters To A Scattered 
        Family will appeal to, There are links with masters like Tim Buckley 
        and Laura Nyro, possibly Wilder period Cope, obvious elements 
        of Eyeless In Gaza. But on a song as moonstruck, melodic and moving as 
        Ill Wrap Your Hopes there are no comparisons necessary. 
        The Pale Saints are fans. So am I, and you need this record.
      by Bob Stanley