
Is it any wonder that Dylan John Thomas has undergone such a rise? Let’s go through the details—a Scottish, self-made singer-songwriter / folk troubadour type, whose music is so expressly designed for the communal singalong that his debut album ended with a live cut. The hints of Cinnamon are particularly strong, aren’t they?
To be fair, this isn’t a rare archetype. Gerry Cinnamon may be an easy point of reference, but he’s far from the only one. If anything, the one that Thomas bears the widest-reaching resemblance to is Jake Bugg. Both cut a markedly Bob Dylan-esque silhouette on their debut, for that to be expanded upon on the follow-up. Both are also far from gifted showmen, made more apparent when the scope of their work widens. They even have the same inability to acclimatise to dance music that’s already an awkward pivot; like Bugg’s Camelphat collaboration Be Someone, Thomas has Come And Get It that’s just as unsuitable.
Overall, though, Nothing Here Worth Taking finds likable pockets of inspiration that Thomas appears comfortable to work with. Even with indie-folk of this bent deliberately bereft of its own ideas—the horns on the title track and Got You On My Mind could’ve been copied and pasted from a Red Rum Club song—the warmth is always nice. The added spaciousness, too, is a natural next step for Thomas and his big, singalong ambitions. Perhaps there’s something lost when the finger-picked acoustics have effectively been gentrified into Scottish Noah Kahan, but that can have its own merits. For example, there’s a richness to The Bridge, thanks to an arrangement that feels modelled after some of The Beatles’ more opulent numbers. There’s also the quicker banjo rollick of Got You On My Mind that’s good, and Thinking About You’s tipsy folk-pop is bustling with charm in its instrumental.
‘In its instrumental’ is absolutely a caveat, though. It implies a lot to prop up Thomas’ very little, and that’s not precisely wrong. He’s not an emotive singer in the slightest, something the thickness of his Scottish accent seems to further wall off. Songs like The Bridge and Sequel that gesture towards tenderness are nearly impossible for him to find purchase on, such is the rigidity of his range. On upbeat singalongs where a thousands-strong crowd is a supplementary need, it’s better, though Thomas on his own still isn’t the best. There’s a rigidity to it, maybe even an apathy. Thus, when Come And Get It arrives and Thomas’ bleat communicates nothing of thrust or momentum, the idea to make this a dance song seems totally misguided, no matter how slick the bassline and beat are.
It’s emblematic of the main, overarching problem with Nothing Here Worth Taking, that being how it’s incredibly quick to lose its way. Thomas moves as though he’s scrambling for direction, as if to avoid the natural perils that encroach upon older-styled, salt-of-the-earth soloist fare. And even if a lot of what he’s got isn’t bad, it doesn’t feel all that impactful for the scale it’s on. It’s a bit too clean, for one, opting for a modernised aesthetic of folk and its sore spot for texture. Presumably, Thomas doesn’t want to be folk-pop or its just-as-hollow, Mumford & Sons-shaped offshoot, but that’s the route he’s heading down. Hell, Call It A Day hits the commercialised void of 2010s stomp-clap, or even Kickstarter stock music with its twinkles and whistles.
In preempting the need to push forward, Thomas, of his own volition, appears to have Difficult Second Albumed himself. Nothing Here Worth Taking, while hardly as damned as its title reads, lacks a lot of spirit in its direction. His debut, for as many trite ‘old soul’ plaudits as it was courting, ultimately did get somewhere. This, by comparison, is more sanitised in every decision it makes, and for an artist like Thomas, the weaknesses in that speak for themselves. Even if there is a decent bit to like, such pronounced shortcomings don’t get swept away or disguised so easily.
For fans of: Mumford & Sons, Jake Bugg, Gerry Cinnamon
‘Nothing Here Worth Taking’ by Dylan John Thomas is out now on Believe Music.
Words by Luke Nuttall






