Over the past few years, the female singer ranks have been piqued by the odd lady who harks back to a more simple, traditional version of one woman and her heartbreak. Jenny Lewis of Rilo Kiley, for example. Her solo album, Rabbit Fur Coat, told tales of old-fashioned adultery and a more humble way of life. Kimya Dawson, veteran of this genre, was recently exposed to a whole new audience thanks to the success of her cutesy home-grown ditties on the soundtrack to indie-flick smash Juno. And She and Him use Zooey Deschanel’s wholesome country twang to brilliant effect in anthems of heartbreak and bar brawls.

And so the latest recruit to the female-scorned resurgence is Caitlin Rose, although she owes more to artists like Loretta Lynn and Hank Williams than her contemporaries. Hailing from Nashville, Tennessee (where else?), she’s got some heavy musical heritage behind her.
Her Dead Flowers EP is a collection of gusty, tongue-in-cheek (the lyrics to ‘Shotgun Wedding’ will provoke at least a chuckle), tambourine jangling banjo strumming ditties.

‘Gorilla’ is undoubtedly the high point – give a girl a tambourine and nothing else and she’ll write you an absolute toe-tapper. It’s only a minute and a half long, but her quick-witted words and the jingle jangle will hang around for a lot longer.

In a contrast to the brilliantly vulgar lyrics of ‘Docket’, and the classic blues-y drinking tale in the whisky-soaked ‘Answer In One of These Bottles’, the only real low point is her cover of Patsy Cline’s ‘Three Cigarettes (in an ashtray)’. It’s bordering on a little too sickly, lacking the bounce and charm of the rest of the EP, but does reiterate this 20 year-old has certainly got a decent set of lungs on her.

Later there’s a far better suited cover of The Rolling Stones’ ‘Dead Flowers’. With slide and acoustic guitar and warm backing vocals, it’s got just the right amount of poignancy and hope, as well as Caitlin’s wonderfully nostalgic voice soaring to the rafters.

At seven tracks this is almost twice the length of your average EP – one more track and she could’ve called it an album. This, combined with the cover versions, means there’s a lack of direction and perhaps a missed opportunity for Caitlin to really stamp out her identity on this EP. However, her own tracks and unmistakable voice do enough to set her apart, and I suspect in a few months we’ll be in no doubt as to who she is.

Buy the EP from Amazon | [itunes link="http://itunes.apple.com/gb/album/dead-flowers/id353568610?uo=4" title="Caitlin_Rose-Dead_Flowers_(Album)" text="iTunes"]

The Tailors, who are based in good old London town, have a nice little back story to this album which is enough to make you want to buy it out of pity before you’ve even heard a note: band makes awaited follow-up to debut, band then looses the whole of said follow-up due to some epic technological fail. Yep. Gone. Finito. Nothing saved whatsoever. So, what does one do in this situation? Try to salvage what might have been through memory…or take it on the chin, see it as a hand from fate and start over?

The latter of course. And sob story aside, this is actually worthy of your aural attention without pity playing a part. Come Dig Me Up is the kind of album that was made to get you through the cruel winter months. It’s warm, humble and oh, apparently has a song about dinosaurs…

Opening track ‘Pictures of Her’ is instantly likable, with vocalist Adam Killip embracing you from the off with the husky warmth of his voice. It’s delicate and beautifully crafted – much like the rest of the album.

‘Bow Road’ and ‘Animal Humour’ are both catchy little numbers, with perhaps a slight bluesy feel to them. Think The Shins on a good day, being a bit more country and you’re not far off.

Title track ‘Come Dig Me Up’ takes things down a notch (this is the dinosaur one…), and is one of the albums more tender moments with the barely-there-guitar and soft keys. According to Adam, it sums up the “blind optimism” of the record – lovely stuff.

That’s generally this album all round – endearing, beautiful and unashamedly pretty. Now, while ‘pretty’ might not be the most favoured adjective for a man’s music to be labeled as, if you listen to the poetic ‘Impossible Wonder’ you’ll see where that choice of word comes from. And it’s certainly no bad thing.

Other tracks, including ‘Mush Love’, ‘Crocodiles’ and closing song ‘Flying Blues’ further demonstrate the craftsmanship that’s gone into making this record. The tracks have a refined quality about them but still maintain a little bit of roughness round the edges. Well worth a listen, even if you’re a stubborn Scrooge who runs a mile at the mention of anything remotely country-esque.

mp3:> The Tailors: ‘Animal Humour’

Buy the album from Amazon | Rough Trade

Can’t quite make my mind up on the name, but upon hearing their last release Ends Of June back in 2007 it was highly obvious that here was a special collection of musicians who made up Low Low Low La La La Love Love Love, crafting something quite beautiful. Admittedly, I had completely forgot I had Ends Of June, then seeing that they had something new coming out, I revisited the last one, and the wonder remains.

Feels, Feathers is more of the same sunshine folk, and the song writing is as magical as ever. ‘Blackbird 1′ is dreamy, childlike, and, like most of Low Lows songs, completely disarming, it caresses with it’s harmonies, but does bulk it up with electric guitars which I feel nicely break the sway of the record.

The magic of the vocal harmonies between the group, led by Kelly Dysons soothed vocals, comfort you. They create a fun, yet intimate world that you want to sing along with. It is music with huge heart and a shiny step. Playful, poetic, fun and sad at the same time. There aren’t many Brit bands around like this, so it is very refreshing to know and hear a band who can exist amongst some of the new folk greats of America such as Sufjan, Six Organs, Elliott Smith…

Recorded in Yorkshires Peak District the record exudes warmth. Take the sailing, inviting, shimmy of ‘Where Ya Goin’. The xylophone melodies add extra colour and mood to an already magic land. It is very much folk pop rather than adhering to the psychedelic leanings of most modern folk. There is more in common with the late, great Elliott Smith in terms of song writing, as his craft was perfect acoustic pop, so is Low Lows clearly a very fine collection of emotional and fragile folk pop. Flower In The Mind is a perfect example of the fragility of their song writing. Burnt guitar solo, emotional lyrics pointing at sadness , it is quite lovely.

The only criticism is that it can be bland at times, like on’ Document 15′ and ‘Air’. The bedroom DIY ethic and sound of the band can suffer from being too bare, maybe some of the songs lack of something memorable which obviously makes it forgettable. But there is no denying that this record has plenty of good songs such as ‘Clear The Throat’ and ‘Idiot Symphonies’  that make this album very much worth the effort.

Buy album from Amazon | [itunes link="http://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewArtist?id=214802024&uo=4" title="Low Low Low La La La Love Love Love" text="iTunes"]

I’m so happy that I didn’t write my review of this record upon my first listening of this record. I was completely in the wrong mood and wrong setting. In work, having quite a manic day and surrounded by people who proclaim “tune” every time they hear the opening bars to ‘Sex is on Fire’. (“What the fuck is this country bullshit, Ama?” one said during this first listening in my work space). So it’s Sunday. I’m half watching the Singapore Grand Prix. (I think Hamilton’s bagged it but Vettel’s not too far behind). This is more like it. I’m lying in bed and my toes are warm. I have a piping hot mug of tea. Ideal…

This, the second release from Geoff Farina (of Karate / The Secret Stars fame)’s Glorytellers moniker is a simple, short but sweet affair, clocking in at just over half an hour and rimming with wallops of folksy and bluesy twangs, meshed with some truly delicate intricate melodies. Opener ‘The Lost Half Mile’ oozes a welcoming sunny charm which will want to get you grabbing those belt hooks and slapping those thighs and ‘Fours’ and ‘Blue Flag’ display some splendidly expert guitar playing, which I must add never feels self-conscious or contrived but slips out effortlessly within the songs. The acoustic/electric guitar pairing on ‘Concaves’ are so entwined with one another, that you’d be forgiven for wanting them to get a room.

‘Hawaiian Sunshine’ could leave you feeling dizzy as it bombards you with finger-picking wonder. It’s so precisely delivered you can only listen in appreciation but you do seem to notice a similar pattern emerging on this journey through Americana of love, separations, hay fever, bus journeys and cracks in the pavement.. But thankfully before it ventures into Samey Canyon, you’ve soon reached the album’s climax of ‘Omni Stars’ and ‘The Coldest War’. Both are drawn out with more freedom for instrumental movements which offer much needed relief. The pace has slowed considerably as we prepare for the sunset horizon finale. The outro to ‘Omni Stars’ in particular sounds equally exquisite as it does languid.

Sure, it’s not going to be everyone’s cup of tea (see: Kings of Leon for that) but Farina’s colourful lyrics and subtle vocal melodies really do shine through in these jaunty songs of his. One of the years hidden treasures me thinks.

Glorytellers on Myspace

Apart from the fact they’re the only band I know named after a tree, there’s nothing particularly unique about Baltimore’s Wye Oak. Their debut was picked up by Merge and re-released last year; Jenn Wasner and Andy Stack are in their early twenties, and for young musicians it was a promising start. Still, while a number of evocative terms could have been used to describe If Children – including slowcore/sadcore, shoegaze and my favourite, “droning Americana” (which sounds rather like what people would have to listen to in hell) – it was really just decent indie music. Brittle melodies were combined with bursts of pleasant noise and distortion, shot through with a familiar country rock vibe. It didn’t all work but much of it did, especially when you turned the volume up.

Their second album The Knot is dense and thoughtful, and deals with relationships. Given that Wasner and Stack are in one together, this record might leave fans feeling concerned. They hardly sound like the sunshine of each other’s lives. In fact, with songs such as ‘Talking About Money’ and lyrics like “Do you never ask/because I’ll never tell?/We are both the same/unwell” I found it quite tempting to turn glassy eyed, nod sympathetically, and wait for them to change the subject to something less dreary.

Having said that, there are some good things about The Knot. One of these is Wasner’s voice which is bluesy and vulnerable, and one of the few elements of the band’s sound that marks a particularly successful step forward from If Children. On that the vocals were shared but let loose through this whole album, her voice soars. There are also some lovely melodies and the music is pretty, though it does tend to bring to mind other things. If you play Panda’s Bear ‘Person Pitch’ and Animal Collective’s ‘Feels’ at the same time, you’d probably end up with ‘Tattoo’, and I’ve even read an interview where Wasner describes a standout track, ‘For Prayer’, as the “Neil Young feeling one”.

Although their first album saw Wye Oak rightly compared to Yo La Tengo, the group they remind me of most is Beach House (also a boy-girl band, young, from Baltimore, playing down-tempo indie rock, albeit gentler and more wistful). Now, whereas Beach House’s excellent second effort, Devotion was cleaner, more consistent and improved on their debut, the same can’t be said for The Knot. It’s focused and effectively sustains a mood, but I can’t help feeling that Wye Oak are hampered by their quiet loud quiet loud structure, serious, reflective songs and ponderous speeds. Still, they’re young and there may well be better things to come. Perhaps they just need to get themselves a cat.
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Wye Oak on Myspace

American Central Dust just may be Son Volt’s most cynical album yet. That is, it’s not bitterly cynical like Okemah and the Melody of Riot. Dust isn’t angry, it’s frustrated. It’s frustrated with the current climate, the system, the American Dream – the World, really. It’s a frustration that’s been festering through tough times and even tougher decisions. It’s hard to say that Son Volt’s ever been an uplifting band. Sure, a song here or there can be seen as positive in some way, but it’s always been a mournful optimism if anything. On Dust, this fact has never been more obvious. The song titles alone are a dead giveaway: ‘Cocaine and Ashes,’ ‘Dust of Daylight,’ ‘No Turning Back,’ ‘Exiles,’ you get the idea.

“There is no right way, only the way that keeps your mind free/ Every moment to count in the living judgment day” sings Farrar on the accordion-driven opener ‘Dynamite.’ Tired isn’t the right word, but Farrar does sound depleted after exhaling such a line, almost as if stating the truth makes reality worse. For the listener, however, a line (or a song) like this is quite cathartic. It may sound a bit messianic, but Farrar might be experiencing pain so we don’t have to. Ridiculous, sure, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

It makes sense that the most openly pessimistic song is also Dust’s heaviest. ‘When the Wheels Don’t Move’ is the only electric guitar-driven song of the lot, and with good reason. The song discusses not only the decline of industry in America and the unintended consequences, but also the effect of its former strength, and after posing a series of rhetorical questions, Farrar states the following: “Bigger chariots didn’t save Rome/ Easy money didn’t stay at home/ They said the iron horse would always roam/ Who will tell the children when the wheels don’t move?”.

Musically, the band’s in full throwback-mode. The best example lies in ‘No Turning Back,’ a track that couldn’t be more old-school if Beethoven had produced it. I mean, the drums are mixed in only the right channel! Who does that anymore? Then there’s the accent-then-lead-then-accent of a swirling electric guitar in the left channel. And let’s not forget the Springsteen-channeling of Jay Farrar. It’s as throwback as throwback gets. Likewise, ‘Sultana’ is a piano ballad wherein the piano is used for percussion more melody, à la Spoon’s ‘The Ghost of You Lingers.’ If there’s such a thing as sad rockabilly, this is it.

Bill Maher wondered on his show last week if America was truly “over the hill.” Maher has openly stated numerous times that America has many problems with which it needs to deal. That said, Maher hopes that the U.S. isn’t past its prime because he loves his country. Likewise, Farrar and company are calling out the problems of this country but not in a patronizing manner. No, they want this country at its zenith. But as he sees it, our problems can’t be ignored in order for that to happen. As Farrar eloquently frames America’s current situation on ‘Roll On,’ “Left to chance or left undone, miles to go chasing the sun/ The stones we throw always find us on the way down.”
87%

Son Volt on Myspace

The cover of Israel Nash Gripka’s New York Town shows the tousle haired singer songwriter bowed seriously over his guitar in a park overlooking Brooklyn Bridge and the Manhattan skyline. The faded looking sleeve has been treated to appear beaten and worn, like an old vinyl record sleeve battered by constant use, the conceit continuing down to the black disc printed to look like a miniature LP. On the strength of the music it contains it may not be too long before the record sleeve gets worn out for real.

A child of the rural midwest, Gripka, like so many others, was drawn to the bright lights of the big city to see his fame and fortune. During his journey from the dirt roads to the high rises and bright lights he has clearly observed the scenes and people he passed along the way, and here he shares their stories, and his own. Sure, a singer songwriter who plies heartfelt examinations of everyday life, heartbreak and longing is nothing new. However, in the hands of a someone of Gripka’s abilities these familiar topics are made to shine. Organs swirl, Harmonica’s blow and pedal steel swoons around Gripka’s voice, which at times calls to mind early Springsteen, particularly on the slow burning ‘Confess’. Elsewhere his cracking rough round the edges vocal adds a human touch and true warmth to the likes of piano led closer ‘Beautiful’ and ‘Let it Go’. There is plenty hear to enjoy, particularly if you have a predilection for big sing a long chorusses that stick in your head. In creating an album of heart felt Americana with New York as a backdrop and occasional subject, it was perhaps inevitable that comparisons would be drawn to Ryan Adam’s Gold. Indeed, ‘Pray For Rain’ and ‘Let It Go’ could well have been lifted directly from that record, with Gripka’s vocal delivery and intonation so reminiscent of Adams that you could be forgiven for thinking you were listening to the wrong record.

New York Town is an impressive debut offering from Israel Nash Gripka, and with his knack for storytelling and a killer chorus he is certainly one to keep an eye out for in the future. As he writes and records more, there’s no doubt he will develop his own voice further, and the rare occasions where his records slip into Americana autopilot will become few and far between.
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Israel Nash Gripka on Myspace

The one line that will turn up in all of The Low Anthem‘s UK press is that Steve Lamacq labelled them “this year’s Fleet Foxes”. Even if they seem unlikely candidates to make the same kind of high street impact, the track you’ll most likely know them for so far, ‘Charlie Darwin’, which opens proceedings on this third album (but first to make a wider impact) refers back to somewhere in between Pecknold and co and Bon Iver. It’s back porch acoustic Americana, laced with harmonies and Crosby Stills & Nash spirit, so spare you can almost feel the air in the room. Ben Knox Miller sings in a high, keeningly tender register about the ills of the modern man and his failing corporations (“Fighting for a system built to fail/Spooning water from their broken vessels, as far as I can see there is no land”) and a dusty harmonica solo at the end. It feels timeless, like it could equally have been handed down from an Alan Lomax field recording or featured as this month’s Mojo magazine rave. A trio from Rhode Island now signed to Nonesuch in America and Bella Union, after an earlier release through End Of The Road Records, in the UK.

Slippery customer, expectation. You’re probably wondering whether we really need another plaintive voiced, harmonically strong, intimately produced North American band after the year we’ve just had. But while Justin Vernon sounded like he was making music out of catharsis and many of the genre within a genre’s fellow travellers are as much West Coast as backwoodsmen, The Low Anthem’s strength is that at their most musically downbeat, down at heel even, superior there’s a clear warmth, whether the lyrical content be world fearing, painfully personal or just spiritual at heart. The arrangements seem direct from Woody Guthrie’s dustbowl imagery, pared down and antiquated.

It’d be far too easy to compare and contrast these songs of emotional pull and bleak aura with other old time for new audiences artists, but there’s as much Nickel Creek as Delta blues or Will Oldham in many of these songs. The yearning for lost love and for a change of scenery in ‘To Ohio’ sounds equally like the Felice Brothers and Simon & Garfunkel. ‘Ticket Taker’ is a closed miked song of possibly unrequited love against the fall of the world, reusing the waters rising metaphor from ‘Charlie Darwin’ as a backdrop for hoping the lyrical character Mary Anne might join him despite everything. ‘(Don’t) Tremble’ is a more direct love song wherein Miller comes across as a backwoods Guy Garvey, both in his careworn vocal and his finding new and interesting ways to reflect the deep devotion of love – “If your tree should bare no fruit/Do not turn and do not spill… If your hand should lose its grip/Do not tremble do not sweat, for where then would you get”. And then there’s the ‘other’ Low Anthem. The one that turns in a whisky sodden stomp on ‘The Horizon Is A Beltway’ and ‘Home I’ll Never Be’, wherein Miller turns his larynx growlingly red raw and the band turn in a blues stomp that approaches modern bluegrass and Tom Waits somewhere between his barfly and junkyard incarnations. (In fact the latter is a cover of a song most famously recorded by Waits, written by Jack Kerouac.)

Then, in the last third, it nearly throws it all away. ‘Champion Angel’ is virtually a bar-room boogie, the one time the band really allow themselves to let go, but by the same token it seems to come from a completely different album, meant to lead into the swirling pump organ and hope/fatalist images of ‘Cage The Songbird’ but ending up detracting from its slow burn. Additionally, the idea of ending with a differently played version of ‘To Ohio’ that isn’t as good seems as though the band are saying they didn’t get round to writing a big finish that tied in all the ideas, hopes and aspirations considered throughout the album. It’s a shame it has to end like this.

Oh My God Charlie Darwin is driven by the quest for better things, taking itself away from the big bad commerce of the modern world and finding solace in the little things – love, opportunity, community and a sense of belonging. Where the album peaks work their magic is in how they take influences often older than the acoustic folk community the band have ended up being placed alongside and recontextualise them so they sound fresh not by force of will, but in the enveloping warmth of sentiment and sound.
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The Low Anthem on Myspace

Bowerbirds

“Not many people have beards in Britain. I mean, back home everyone I know has a beard. Everyone in my band has a beard. Everyone in my other band has a beard. But you get to England and then….no beards”. Gig goers of the UK, you have been warned by sometime Bowerbirds member, and full time Megafaun Brad Cook to get your hair folicles back to work. He has a point- the crowd tonight is decidedly unhairy, a surprise given that Bowerbirds play the kind of delicate fusion of folk and americana that normally brings out the facially fuzzy in their droves. But I digress.

When you have a novelty band name based around the names of members of your band, it must be hard to take when one of said name members decides to call it quits. Take pity then on Tim and Sam’s Tim and the Sam band with Tim and Sam. Perhaps they will just be called Tim from now on. Pleasant enough for the first few songs, Tim and the other members ply a fine line in pastoral folk post rock somewhat akin to Midlake let loose on Explosion in The Sky’s toybox. Frontman Tim layers loops of his acoustic guitar, making for a dense,all be it slightly twee sound. However, after a while, the limitations of only having a certain amount of loop time become apparent and the guitar lines get over repetitive. Part of TASTASBWTAS’ problem is that there is not quite enough going on musically to justify being an instrumental act- a fact that the band may perhaps realise themselves, as frequently Tim’s guitar picks out a clear vocal melody line over his layered guitars. There is some talk of recruiting guest vocalists in the future, a prospect which may yet move the band forward to brighter pastures.

Tim and Sam......

All the way from Australia, Oliver Mann is an interesting prospect. An operatically trained Baritone accompanying himself on sparse parlour-style guitar he comes on like the missing link between Tindersticks’ Stuart Staples and Bryn Terfel. When the first notes come from his mouth there is an audible gasp from the crowd, a note of shock at the sounds coming from within Mann’s chest. Joined by the Dirty Three’s Jim White on his most recent album, tonight is a more stripped down affair, and unfortunately a somewhat confused Borderline crowd seem unsure how to take his unusual voice and arrangements. For those who made the effort there was some uncomfortably desolate things to listen to. That is not to say Mann is without a sense of humour, a fact he demonstrates ably when he says “I’m going to pick things up a bit. Let’s face it, it shouldn’t be hard.” Late in the set, a song about visiting China then getting busted with a load of smack, landing up in jail and then escaping thanks to a pair of leather shoes is a lyrical treat for those who have bothered to keep listening.

Oliver Mann

When Bowerbirds finally take the stage, they look tired. Due to some strange tour booking they find themselves in London for a one off UK date sandwiched between shows in Paris and Nantes, facing a 10 hour drive after the nights show. As soon as the first notes of “Hooves” kick in however, things are as they should be, Phil Moore’s delicate nylon guitar lines framing the lilting harmonies between himself and partner Beth Tacular. Having parted company with multi-instrumentalist Mark Paulson the band are joined tonight by the aforementioned Brad Cook on bass and Matt Damron on drums. Showcasing the majority of upcoming release “Upper Air” it is clear the band have moved on from the rawer, minimal arrangements that graced debut “Hymns For A Dark Horse”. Gone, for the most part, are the songs based around Moore’s intricately picked acoustic guitar parts, replaced by a more strummed style. Of the new material, “Beneath Your Tree” is a real highlight, Tacular and Moore’s vocals combining beautifully with the accordion. It takes some talent to make the phrase “gnarly thicket” sound magical, but somehow they manage to pull it off.

In places the addition of a full band doesn’t quite suit the Bowerbirds sound, and the abscense of Paulson’s violin is to the detriment of “Dark Horse”, replaced as it is with a twinkling piano that strips it of it’s rawness, resulting in a “lounge version”. Tonight, Bowerbirds are at their best when stripped to the bare bones, as the encore of “Bright Future” and “Olive Hearts” shows, Moore taking the stage alone and picking gently at his guitar and letting his voice enchant the audience as they drift out into the warm London night.

Bowerbirds' Phil Moore

Bowerbirds Setlist
Hooves
My Oldest Memory
Beneath yr Tree
House of Diamonds
Chimes
Silver Clouds
In Our Talons
Bur Oak
Teeth
Ticonderoga
Slow down
Northern lights
Dark Horse

Encore:
Bright Future
Olive Hearts

Bowerbirds' Beth Tacular

Bowerbirds' Brad Cook

It’s very, very tempting to drop the overused ‘L’ word to describe former punk and founding father of alt-country Alejandro Escovedo. In the UK for a short series of shows as part of the La Línea Latin Music Festival (you probably picked up on all the coverage given to the Simon Bolivar Youth Orchestra), this was the only ‘solo’ show as such. For the others he was just one of a large ensemble performing a ‘Tropical Tribute to the Clash’ – hinting at his musical roots and emphasising the mutual respect between himself and the late Joe Strummer.

It was one of the other artists on that bill, forceful Andalucian singer Amparo Sanchez, who provided support. Although a disciple of the Manu Chao school of latin/punk/reggae/rock, her set was more traditionally ‘chanson’ in style: acoustic guitar and passionate Spanish lyrics throughout. She was accompanied by a rather hesitant electric guitarist – understandable as it was the first time they had ever taken the stage together. It was Sanchez’s personality rather than the material that won the audience over, and she also had to battle the subdued ambience generated by a seated hall and the baffling decision to play non-stop Leonard Cohen prior to and between sets. Let’s samba with Len one more time!

Last summer’s Real Animal (produced by Tony Visconti) has finally seen Alejandro Escovedo getting some wider coverage in the US and a degree of modest success. A few years ago it was all so different when he came close to death from hepatitis-C. With no money for medical bills and a long road to recovery ahead, things looked bleak. Fans and friends raised funds via benefit concerts and a tribute album that featured Steve Earle, Ian Hunter, John Cale, and Son Volt amongst others. Springsteen and Ryan Adams are also fans. So, without a current album to promote, Escovedo took the opportunity to treat us to an intimate illustrated commentary on his life in music – matching the autobiographical theme of Real Animal in fact.

Relaxed and loose in everything but the guitar playing, he had the perfect gently accented voice for storytelling and great timing for his patter. With no fixed setlist, a bunch of decent songs, a few great ones, and an adoring audience, it was going to be a good evening. What transformed it into a magical event were Escovedo’s passionate, charismatic delivery and the astonishing playing of partner David Pulkingham. Jesus Christ! Coaxing swooning flamenco tears from his guitar one minute and lashing it to within an inch of its already scarred life the next, he left most of the audience in dropped-jaw appreciation, and most of the males present nursing a semi. It was something to behold. Escovedo usually leads a ‘rock band’, but here were two acoustic guitarists absolutely ripping the place up at will with a massive adrenaline rush. Acoustic punks: which is basically the transformation he made in the early 80′s with a couple of bands (only going solo in the 90′s) that provided inspiration for the likes of the Long Ryders and spawned alt-country and the No Depression movement.

It was a song written at that time, one of his first, which opened the set. He had just relocated back to Texas in order to tap into the musical lineage of the likes of Bob Wills, and ‘Five Hearts Breaking’ was inspired by boozing with a particular old timer. Escovedo had walked straight past the stage and started down in the middle of the audience. This early composition wasn’t his best, but being there and following its extended engaging introduction, there was already a sense that this wasn’t going to be an ordinary show.

Stories of his father’s journey from Mexico and subsequent courtship (which resulted in the musical play By The Hand Of The Father and the singing of the gorgeous ‘Rosalie’), the uprooting of twelve children from Texas to California (“It was tough being a Mexican surfer”) and early adoration of Iggy Pop (resulting in ‘Real Animal’) followed. In the mid 70′s he started playing in San Francisco with The Nuns. A ripple of applause at this name was batted back with a smiling “If you clap then you never saw us. We sucked“. They wanted to be a rock band but couldn’t play, so with perfect timing they became punks, and (pop trivia fans) opened for the last proper Sex Pistols gig. Living the punk dream/nightmare (“I lost a lot of friends through drugs“), Escovedo had moved to New York and was resident at the Chelsea Hotel when Sid killed Nancy. ‘Chelsea Hotel 78′ was predictably one of the most high octane numbers.

It’s easy to see why Escovedo and his band are one of the closing artists for SXSW almost every year. He has the cool of a wiry Tex-Mex gunslinger and was sporting killer designer boots beneath his drainpipe jeans. My definition of an intimate performance: being close enough to feel the recoil of those boots on the stage. There was much thumping during ‘Castanets’ – the song he has reclaimed following a self-imposed three year ban after the NY Times included it on a top ten list of songs on George W Bush’s iPod. It wasn’t even his version, so “they f**ked that up“, and Escovedo doesn’t believe George W. even knows how to use an iPod. It’s good to hear it from him again now that he’s shaken off the embarrassment. And the song? About a girl who used to get up and join in, with no sense of rhythm, at a punk bar they used to play, and who looked like Keith Richards – not good.

The final two songs of a set that had flown by were performed back amongst the audience. A self confessed Mott The Hoople “stalker” during the mid 70′s (and also looking for a gig as an excuse to come back to the UK in October for their reunion), Escovedo fielded a request to play ‘I Wish I Was Your Mother’. Time stood still. Silence reigned. The song stopped hearts, tripped tears, and sent knees weak that then needed to stand for a deserved ovation. One of the most perfect moving moments I have witnessed.

A one song encore followed of ‘Train In Vain’ with Amparo Sanchez joining them to recreate a segment of the previous night at the Barbican. A very different arrangement (not necessarily a bad thing) and not quite the barnstorming climax that would have fitted a great night. Still, it was good to see the stage full and the performers obviously having a good time. The crowd dispersed – still full of murmuring “F**k me” disbelief at what they’d seen. Somewhere in West London there’s probably a wall with “D. P. is God” written on it now. And Alejandro Escovedo? There’s no avoiding it. A soulful, romantic, hard-rocking, legend.

Alejandro Escovedo

Billboard.com are reporting this morning that Son Volt are returning.

The group, fronted by one time Uncle Tupelo man Jay Farrar, will return in the summer with a new album and label. American Central Dust will be the band’s sixth full-length and its first since signing with Rounder Records, and will be released in he U.S. on 7th July.

Tracklisting:
“Dynamite”
“Down To The Wire”
“Roll On”
“Cocaine And Ashes”
“Dust Of Daylight”
“When The Wheels Don’t Move”
“No Turning Back”
“Pushed Too Far”
“Exiles”
“Sultana”
“Strength And Doubt”
“Jukebox of Steel”

The snowball, or sunbeam, effect of folk music has risen into the popular consciousness thanks to musicians such as Devendra Banhart, Sufjan and Jose. Since they began lending their songs to major advertising campaigns, their presence as a form of resistance to the modern way of life; its joyless, motionless drag (the eternal pessimist I am), has been superseded by money making adverts whose message is “if you have this mobile phone you can live as care free and as easy as these guys.” Has the origin of folk music been ambushed and usurped by new folks embracing of commercialism? Who knows. Selling out aside, it seems the popularity of folk keeps on rolling. Where will it roll next?

From the backwaters of Americana folk come Moriarity. Part bluegrass, part olde folk and part country, their debut Gee Whizz… reminds us what is good about indigenous American folk. Songs like the opener ‘Jimmy’ are neat enough pop orientated folk songs, bare and simple. But it’s later in the album where the real gems lie. ‘Loneliness’ is slightly irritating in its effort to be ye olde twee, and ‘Private Lily’ is making efforts to be anti-folk without any real impact. But the bluesy Motel has a fiery bareness, with a nice groove. That said, there’s something about lead singer Rosemary Stanley’s voice that can grate at times – like Grace Slick with throat infection. On her quieter moments she treats a song well. The mysteriously titled ‘(…)’ is perhaps the albums best. Downbeat jazz bass romance, this is where the album starts to pay off; tight musicianship and effortless songwriting. Even if Rosemary does let her nasal voice get about a bit, there is a hint of Tim Buckley to its tones. A compliment to any musician. We can’t get down with the American folk tradition without a barn dance y’all, so ‘Whitemans Ballad’ is another pay off -  a barn worthy hootenanny.

Despite a mostly generic folk leaning there are moments on this record where the band shine. Unfortunately though, they’re never going to set your heart ablaze.

A comfortably nice folk album.
63%

Moriarty on MySpace

J. Tillman captures the night. There’s something about the voice, the melody, the lyrics that write an image of the early hours, the dead hours, when retrospection and introspection turn into hallucinations. When a soft voice singing in a way that compels a voice from your own throat. There is nowhere to hide at this time, nothing can stop the flow of your thoughts. But it’s a place where a voice singing in just such a way, a melody playing a particular chord change, can feel like two fingers plunged into your chest.

Based on his previous albums we know that he can deliver stark, spare songs that shed incidental light on vignettes (Long May You Run), orchestrated ones that shade in and colour personal woes (Minor Works), and the perfect dose of both those styles with added inscrutable lines (Cancer And Delirium). With Vacilando Territory Blues he carries all of this forward and adds in a little bit of country, blues, rock, and some bright daylight in the form of a small amount of positive lyrics. Through these elements he successfully manages to avoid sounding like he is re-making anything he has done before.

There’s ‘Barter Blues’ with it’s slide guitar, twangs, blues-y drunkenness, and fire and redemption lyrics ‘I met you on the way to Heaven…I can’t forgive for those you sinned against/It’s too late to act like you don’t know me’, and ‘Steel On Steel’ which curls off pieces of country guitar. ‘New Imperial Grand Blues’ struts with it’s raucous sax, electric guitar and thudding rhythm, like a bloodied-nose barroom brawl. With tracks like ‘No Occasion’ and ‘Laborless Land’ he is still in the comfortable mode of the Americana brushed singer-songwriter, but there are some delightful extras in the shape of skewed strings for the former and woodwinds and backing vocals for the latter, and it is pleasing to see these extras crop up in most places where there lack would be felt, (although songs like ‘Vessels’ and ‘Someone With Child’ perhaps still have this lack).

Tillman again comes up with lyrics that glimmer with light, dark and silver, lyrics that take time to pick apart.  Family, religion and looking back at life are the main themes that keep coming up here, often all in the same song, roaming through regret, bitterness and an inner peace. There is a clutch of songs where the words are weighted with the past, or the realities of growing older, ‘Laborless Land’ has the lines ‘I don’t need a song to tell me/I don’t need old histories’ warning/For what I saw that blood-red on and/Daylight’ where a strong memory is surfacing at night, ‘James Blues’ features a man struggling with monogamy and the leaden weight of a failing relationship started in a youth seemingly long since passed.

This stuff bleeds over into familial themes, on ‘Someone With Child’ a ‘stain’ that never comes out is taken up by a son from his mother, her suicide leaves a heavy legacy which is heartbreakingly put by Tillman in a few lines, and followed up by the stunning, ‘Before unexpectedly you were hollowed out by grief/The clipped glory of your youth’. There’s more gloom with ‘Steel On Steel’, the curse of a wrong decision stays with the protagonist, ‘What a curse/What a life/Destined to survive/And relive every night/Like my hands were tied’, these lines coming in an achingly beautiful break in the otherwise jaunty music, just a guitar and cracking voice.

But it’s not all hardships, ‘No Occasion’ ends up sweet with sentiments of ‘I don’t want to live again/Because I don’t want this life to end’, showing a strong relationship that went right. Again a song dealing with family, ‘Vacilando Territory’ has the refrain ‘You’re my brother’ leaking love all over the place amid gorgeous imagery such as ‘A 5 day journey through the pan-handle morning’ and ‘All our plans were sitting on the skyline’. A connection between two people is revealed, one that enables them to feel a strong kinship, despite being unrelated, ‘The way you spoke about the unknown/Shook my 25 year old bones/And made me unsure I was someone’s only son’. ‘Above All Men’ acts as a sort of blueprint for a better life by listing the basic foundation you need to be happy, ‘If you have a days work/And a good word/And a night’s rest after keeping/Company of your friends/And a woman to greet the morning with’ then you are ‘blessed above all men’.

The rural tone found with the better known Fleet Foxes has always resided in Tillman’s music, but he has a lyrical talent that appeals to me personally a whole lot more than what you find with his better-known outfit. With long-time collaborator Kory Kruckenberg (engineering/producing) Tillman has swelled into a fine songwriter, whose songs get the treatment they deserve. Now if only they got the audience they deserved too, although looking at the press quotes on his myspace, and the artist bio on the Bella Union site, he doesn’t seem to be that bothered.
80%

J. Tillman on MySpace

It feels somehow wrong to be writing an introducing piece on a band who have been together for 10 years. Yet that is how long Vancouver’s The Buttless Chaps have been producing their distinctive, emotional Canadiana. Having earned themselves a reputation as a hard touring band, earlier this year they played a tenth anniversary show which was broadcast nationally in Canada for CBC Concerts on Demand.

Led by Dave Gowans brooding baritone (think somewhere between a less tremulous Stuart Staples and The National’s Matt Berninger), The Buttless Chaps spin tales of rural versus urban alienation, harnessing the spacey melancholy of post millennial albums such as ‘OK Computer’ or ‘Yankee Hotel Foxtrot’ and combining it with their perfectly orchestrated mix of acoustic alt. country and electronic swells, with the odd horn section thrown in here and there for good measure. Gowans’ lyrics perfectly capture the ill-ease of the country boy alone in the big city, and the expanse of the countryside. TLOBF had a virtual cup of coffee to talk over the how and whys of the Buttless Chaps with the bands affable frontman.

For people out there that have never heard of you: Give us three reasons why they should…
We have been around for over a decade & have released six studio albums that have changed each time as the band has grown ( I hope for the better for each one) , If you are into a blend of roots music with a taste of symphonic electronic music then perhaps we are worth a listen.

Can you recall the moment when you first decided you wanted to become a musician?
I think it was when I was about 6 years old performing Barry Manilow songs for my grandmother and getting a sense of her approval

Where do your songs come from? What’s your inspiration?
A lot of cinematic images come to mind, most of my lyrics come from visual experiences, things I have seen, travelling, film etc.

Name your Top 5 records.
This is a hard one as they change all the time, but here are some faves :

Grant Lee Buffalo – Mighty Joe Moon
Neil Young – On The Beach
Depeche Mode – Violator
The Handsome Family – THrough the trees
Richard Buckner – Impasse

What was the first gig you ever played and was it a success?
I played rhythm guitar in a band for one show, filling in for their guitarist.. at the end of the set the sound man said over the PA, “good job guys, keep on practicing! ”

What one piece of criticism has stuck in your mind and was it justified?
One guy threatened to kill me after the show and waiting for me beside the stage to finish, it was a bit intimidating, I think we were not having the best gig but that was a bit extreme, just because we didn’t know any AC/DC covers.

What one thing has caused you to waste your free time in the past 6 months?
My wife and I just had a baby girl who is now 6 months old, I have not had any free time that i can think of !

If you weren’t making music, what do you think you’d be doing?
Working at my record shop [Red Cat Records, Vancouver]

What’s the worst job you’ve ever had?
Cooking at a filthy tea room in Victoria B.C., I worked there for two weeks once needing to pay the rent.

Finally, We’d like you to make us a mix-tape. Pick five tracks with a theme of your choice.
Canadian 80′s new wave !

Rational Youth – Close To Nature
Martha & The Muffins – Women Around The World At Work
Strange Advance – We Run
Gowan – Strange Animal
Men Without Hats – Where Do The Boys Go ?

mp3:> The Butless Chaps: ‘Coal Grey Sky’

Cartography is released in the UK on Mint Records on February 9th 2009

The Buttless Chaps on MySpace

When it was released earlier this year I resisted Sunday At Devil Dirt, Isobel Campbell & Mark Lanegan‘s well-received, rather tongue-in-cheek take on Americana, their second full-length collaboration. It seemed to me too studied, too contrived somehow, a feeling heightened by the fact that Lanegan is something of a hired gun these days – having also supplied vocals to the highly mediocre trip-hoppery of Soulsavers, among others - adding instant gravitas with his Bourban-and-cigarettes-chiselled baritone. Written by the waifish Scottish indie darling Campbell, I couldn’t help think of Lanegan as a kind of country-rock Ol’ Dirty Bastard (R.I.P), enlisted to add an air of debauchery to other people’s records. OK, so I was wrong! The whole enterprise might have appeared more cynical had Campbell been trying to deliver an imitation of dust-blown authenticity. However, this is more revisionist high-jinx than soul-searching alt-country: no naked emotional honesty here, but rather fully-costumed period theatre in the mould of Lee & Nancy or Johnny Cash. Like Micah P Hinson’s fine … Red Empire Orchestre, Isobel Campbell & Mark Lanegan’s output is stylised and cinematic, not as bleak or skeletal as some more orthodox Stateside folk and country.

If you were not persuaded by Sunday at Devil Dirt, the Keep Me In Mind Sweetheart EP may change your mind. Asides the gorgeous eponymous single taken from the album, the EP comprises five tracks “kept back” from the LP for release later in the year – and a timely little stocking filler it is too! I consider myself a Christmassy person, and it may be just me but I can’t help hearing in the tracks selected for this EP a kind of Yuletide warmth. ‘Fight Fire With Fire’ finds Lanegan Leonard Cohening-it-up over a woozy fireside waltz (hmm, is that possible?) that recalls Sheffield’s own retro crooner Richard Hawley. Rather drowse-inducing in its repetition, is swirls gently around in a one-two-many-mulled-wines-dozing-off-in-a-comfy-chair kind of way. ’Asleep On A Sixpence’ is a cello and piano-led vagabond ballad that sounds like Tom Waits gatecrashing a Christmas carol concert, an effect evoked by the appropriation of ‘While Shepherd’s Watch Their Flocks’ as an outro. ‘Rambling Rose’ is admittedly not seasonal at all, unless you consider tumbleweeds and pedal steel guitar part of your regular yuletide get-up. But again Campbell puts just enough reverb into the mix to subtly subvert the country textures with an air of languid detachment. Finally, ‘Hang On’ is Lanegan-free dream pop featuring Isobel Cambell’s sweet, airy vocals over a delicate guitar refrain that recalls early Velvet Underground, but with Nico’s voice somehow digitally de-Germanified.

A lovely EP - Merry Christmas!
80%

Isobel Campbell & Mark Lanegan on MySpace

Tonight there is a new member in Lambchop’s rhythm section. Along side the bass and drums is a gilded figure of about 8 feet in height. It’s Jesus Christ. We are at St. George’s Church in Kemptown, which, frankly, is a contender for most spectacular venue in the country. It’s quite a setting for Kurt Wagner and co’s classic songwriting.

In more than one way St. George’s is a place of worship tonight, the audience sitting captivated by the personable Wagner, who is clearly at ease in his surroundings, playing to a home crowd. “It normally takes 15 years for a band to play an album from start to finish” he says, as the band do exactly that for the first half of the performance. TLOBF has already been singing the praises of OH (Ohio) and that trend is set to continue. Live, the record is elevated from simply another in a line of top draw releases to being a quietly subdued masterpiece of the songwriting art. On a bitterly cold night, Lambchop fill the church with warmth, the lilting country-soul sound enveloping the audience and raising the spirits. It would be very easy for this to become a little too serious, but luckily Wagner and his band are in engaging form.

Acting every inch the dry frontman to pianist Tony Crow’s funny man (although with jokes like “What’s a pirate’s favourite 70’s band? ARRRRgent!” the phrase ‘funny man’ might be a little misplaced) Wagner holds forth on everything from pirates to the prostate. In the process he reveals some of the ideas and meanings behind the new record, such as ‘Of Raymond’, which began after he felt uncomfortable with writing songs about ‘God’. Having remembered the phrase ‘God is Love’, logical progression moved him on to ‘Everybody Loves Raymond’. So….if God is love, and everybody loves Raymond, then logically, Raymond must be God. So he simply replaced the names.

While the material from OH (Ohio) shone, it was the encore that really stole the show. Opening with ‘Give It’, Wagner’s collaboration with Xpress 2, the band move perfectly in to a cover of ‘Once In A Lifetime’ by Talking Heads, the normally docile frontman lunging forward, pointing vigorously at anyone and everyone in sight. After this sudden burst of energy, Lambchop proceeded to play select songs from the back catalog. As the evening wore to a close, Lambchop made the only real mistake of the evening. In introducing ‘Up With People’, he states ‘let’s play it real fast and get it over with’. Considering the surroundings, and the fact that the crowd had been eating out of his hand from the first note of the evening, it felt like an opportunity missed, the speeded up version stripping some of the life affirming soul power from the song, and ending the night on an anti-climax.

However, this proved to be only a minor blip in an otherwise spotless show.

Ryan Adams has an impressive resume. Four solo albums since 2000, and with his band The Cardinals, another four added on to that total. Many shows played worldwide, multiple Grammy nominations, and respect and reverence from hundreds of thousands of fans. So, prior to listening to ‘Cardinology’, his latest album with The Cardinals, it can be assumed either of two things. A) This album will be the best example of alt-country that you can find, an exhibition of major talent from a majorly talented artist or B) It’ll be very easy to listen to, slightly bland but sure as sugar guaranteed to sell records. And sadly Cardinology should have a big ol’ B stamped on its cover.

Closer to Bryan Adams than Bright Eyes, songs like ‘Go Easy’ and ‘Natural Ghost’ are solid and accessible, if easily ignored due to their apparent shallowness. This doesn’t mean that they’re bad, they just leave a slightly bland impression on one’s musical palette. Obviously this approach to music offers up more potential fans, but if you’re looking for genre pushing, you won’t find it here. With Cardinology, Ryan Adams is clearly drawing a line between his music and the current wave of experimental americana/canadicana. He even goes so far the other way as to end up sounding like lite-rock chart-killers of past and present. With songs like ‘Magick’, Cardinology almost sounds like the britpop-referencing, vodafone owned Dandy Warhols, a singalong chorus hidden between sleazy drumming and retro guitar stabs. ‘Cobwebs’ has all the pomp and hair stroking self-adoration of a U2 or Coldplay track, and ‘Crossed Out Name’ could easily have been culled from a Snow Patrol album demo session. Luckily, Ryan Adams just about makes the songs their own. But in all honesty, it isn’t far from sounding like pastiche instead of creation.

The problem that lies with Cardinology is that all these aforementioned tracks are average, and nothing more. Ryan fares the best when playing the country superstar, rather than going for pop hooks. ‘Born Into A Light’ sounds like it was written 30 years ago, it oozes that classic, old school vibe that often leads to songs indeed becoming classics in the future. ‘Evergreen’ is a delicate, slow burning track with a snare that brushes gently against the wall of your skull, and a distant slide guitar line that completes the piece perfectly. It’s the album highlight by far, not an obvious track, but of such high quality and so evocative of mood that it bears many repeat listens. ‘Fix It’ is the only track that pulls away from the country template and semi-succeeds, with an intro that wouldn’t be out of place on an Eagles track giving way to a thick and luxurious chorus, thin vocal lines rolling across layers of reverb-heavy guitars. It still isn’t amazing, but at least it catches the ear slightly.

With Cardinology, Ryan Adams is probably going to earn himself some new chart radio loving fans, and get some more well deserved airplay. However, this album is a bit dangerous in the fact that it may slightly disappoint his die-hard fanbase, as it goes no way to showcasing his talent, prefering instead to plump for slight mediocrity over challenging his and The Cardinal’s own conventions. Im sure in time they’ll overlook that fact, but Cardinology is never going to be his magnum opus, just another notch on Ryan’s musical bedpost. A few great country songs weighed down inescapebly with poppier tracks that seem slightly forced and unwelcome. If you want good Ryan Adams, listen to Love Is Hell, or Jacksonville City Nights. If you want a solid if generic pop-country album to play in the background at house parties, and then have ‘Evergreen’ kick in when everyones slightly pished and emotional, get Cardinology. That’s probably it’s best use, because it is in no way a fitting representation of the artist who created it.
68%

Ryan Adams on MySpace

This album is a hard one to review. Oh yes. Not because it’s bad, its brilliant, and I’m so impressed by That’s The Spirit (Ottawan native Ben Wilson, with some help from a few good friends) that to put into words how much i like this album would take up 3 pages and probably only consist of the word ‘incredible’. And that wouldn’t make a good review. When I do try, whenever I get a good point in my head, I automatically forget it because im too lost in the music. This album feels like an album. It isn’t a collection of songs loosely bundled together. It’s a positive cloud of music, something almost tangible. When Staying Places is playing, an atmosphere is created that is ethereal, almost dream-like and at the same time, a focused concentration of well placed instruments and vocal lines. In fact, if I wasn’t woken up slightly by the vintage piano introduction of ‘It’s Curtains For You’ (a track that drifts across your mental horizon halfway through this release, and then leaves after less than two minutes), Staying Places would have me in a trance from start to finish.

Anyone familiar with the current trend of Folk/Americana/Alt-Indie sweeping over the American and Canadian music scene will probably not be surprised by what they’re hearing when they first play through Staying Places. Well written music, gently sung, with obscure and ornate instruments popping in and out to add colour to what are essentially simple 3 minute minus pieces of music. For the uninitiated, expect from ‘Staying Places’ surprising and inventive songs that will mature greatly over multiple listens. One of the best parts of Ben Wilsons opus is the way that every time you play through the tracks, you hear them in different ways. A bit hard to describe, but you just notice something new every time. For example, the main thing I noticed on the first listen of ‘Always Coming Back’ was the way that it contrasted quite strongly to the first few tracks purely for having an afrobeat, stomping drum line. Second time through it wasn’t so much a “party” song, and I bypassed it completely only to get hung up on the sweetly plucked guitar lines in ‘Epic Advice’. It’s like there’s too much music for one album, and it’s constantly fighting for prominence. This competitiveness means that the next time your brain clocks onto a particular element of a track, or a song as a whole, you can be guaranteed that it won’t sound quite the same as the last time you heard it. This shows an astounding ear for song crafting. Not even songwriting, song crafting. It feels almost like Ben shaped the songs physically, putting little pieces in here and there to surprise or amuse, rather than just being sat in front of a mixing desk or apple computer.

Moving on, if I was to attempt to summarise the lyrical content of the album, I would probably refer you all to his press release. And before you shout out loud at such lazy journalism, its obvious to anyone that the best person to tell you about that is the artist himself (or at least his pr team), and as it was summarised so excellently, I would only butcher and misinterpret.

“From one angle, it’s a snapshot of the mind of the postmodern traveller – always wanting to be somewhere else, constantly in search of that idyllic exile, in a shrinking world with exhausted global space….From another angle, though, it’s a personal reflection of that age-old conflict of putting down roots versus extending branches – the comfort in routine, versus the challenge and excitement of the unknown and uncharted. From any perspective, Staying Places is meant to be a soulful, optimistic album for explorers and armchair travellers alike.”

There. But come on Ben, how was I supposed to guess that? Listen to the lyrics and actually put some effort into a review? Oh….that’s quite an idea!

…good answer.

Highlights of this album are many and commonplace, too many to go into without requiring a full dissection of the album. Clever use of natural reverbs, the way the almost brit-pop guitars of ‘Every City’ sit perfectly with Ben’s vocals, delivered with a soft throat comparable almost to Mike Love of Beach Boys fame in places. Indeed, comparisons to Brian Wilson may even be used when considering the composition of the album, which is always high praise. Shades of Grizzly Bear and Menomena can be found singing through at times, especially on ‘Unmake Me’ and ‘Orienteering’ respectively, to offer another two points for relation. However, it’s much easier (and feels a lot more validating) to say that this is a spotless, near-perfect release. Maybe I’ve just fallen in love with it, but i can see this album staying just as strong over time as it is now. It certainly packs a punch, albeit a punch covered in the fluffy woolen glove of spaced-out folk.

Canada, it seems, has its share of great artists making great music that combines quality songwriting and a skilled hand for lo-fi, delicate production. Sadly though, all we hear about on UK shores is Broken Social Scene and their in-house bands. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing, as Broken Social Scene are incredible songwriters and musicians, but if there was any justice in this world, Staying Places and indeed Ben Wilson would be household names in Blighty as much as Kevin Drew, Brendan Canning, Feist, Emily Haines et al. are. Fans of the previously mentioned should check this gentleman out, because he makes top drawer folk music, and can easily stand shoulder to shoulder with the likes of Bon Iver and Iron And Wine. And for a debut effort, this is an undeniably evocative and accomplished collection of songs. Let’s just hope the postmodern traveller in him doesn’t decide to settle down before he gets his music (and himself) over to Great Britain to chart the uncharted some more.
85%

mp3:> That’s The Spirit: ‘Orienteering’
mp3:> That’s The Spirit: ‘Every City’

That’s The Spirit on MySpace

As he stood and watched, blinking at the foot of the stairs, he muttered into his dripping beard.

Oh Christ.

From his forehead a mixture of blood and sweat dropped over the floor, mixing with the beer, spit and tobacco. The smell was hideous. In the darkened corner, a carny swayed to and fro, half elated, half scared, blinking in disbelief before spinning into a heap at the foot of the stage. The band continued, working themselves into a frenzy, song after song. Their hearts pounded. Fiddles scrapped, cymbals crashed, banjos plucked and voices screeched.

Christ.

They don’t understand.

They can never understand.

This is mania.

Madness.

Tomorrow, a mile down the road, they would take the cold and starless sky again. This was all they knew. It was all they could do. They had been on this land to long. It was coming to an end. It was going to be bloody.

Welcome to the world of O’Death. It’s not a cheery place, by any stretch of the imagination. On this, their third full length record, Greg Jamie and his motley band do their level best to claim the role of the house band in a Cormac McCarthy novel. Heavy with imagery, O’Death seem to mix bluegrass, diy punk and legs apart rock in equal measure, adding up to a relentless and full on assault, which barely lets up throughout it’s 14 songs. While there are moments of calm, they are few and far between. The shrill sound of the fiddle, and Jamie’s lead rasp begin to wear thin pretty quickly. The only real let up is ‘Angeline’, which is pleasant enough, but one can’t help thinking of bands who do the same shambolic, rawkus take on Americana so much better (I’m thinking of Port O’Brien here).

While I can imagine that in a sweaty, dark venue O’Death would be a force to be reckoned with, on record the ideas are spread to thinly, and the inability to contain their urge for a turbo-charged hoedown is their undoing.
34%

O’Death on MySpace

It wasn’t just tumbleweeds and lizards that were carried across the horizon with Garden Ruin‘s stop gap musical experiments. Calexico modernized and in the process loss some of its Tex-Mex charm in pursuit of indie-rock idioms.  Any good meteorologist or (urban) cowboy will tell you that loose soil erosion in one place means a deposit of it in another. Carried to Dust is that other place and the sand it carried is chock full of the choice minerals Calexico fans cherish.

Te resulting dust formula is not as interesting as older experiments. Dust is not the mysterious film noir Western that was 2003′s Feast of Wire was but its no slouch either.  With the exception of the moody indie-rock squalls heard on “Man Made Lake,” this new album leaves Garden Ruin behind on Route 66. Collaboration somewhat hindered  Joey Burns and John Convertino, the duo behind most of Calexico’s globe-trotting music, but here they draw heavily on their favorite sounds for this sixth outing. Sure, there’s plenty of interaction between the band members and their old cohort Sam Beam on the soft flamenco-dub of “House of Valparaiso.” Multi-instrumentalist Jacob Valenzuela steps up for the organ and south of the border horn line  of Spanish-language “Inspiración.” Elsewhere, Jairo Zavala, sidles up to Burn’s mic for the widescreen chorus of “Victor Jara’s Hands.”

Spaghetti Western dalliances (“The News About William”), Portuguese fado , mariachi shuffles (“Victor Jara’s Hands”), and the veteran group’s signature snare-and-bass interplay subside the musical dust storms of collaboration. Though Covertino has found his singer’s voice he shares the mic well. A pure country song ballad like “Slowness,” shines with folk chanteuse, Pieta Brown.

Calexico albums are usually not full of distinct narratives. They serve more as tone poems or travelogues for suffocating heat, the respite of oases, dusty ghost towns, and moribund landscapes. This time out there’s a phantom lyrical narrative that centers on the story of a Hollywood writer who hits the road after the strike. The jovial wordless chorus of “Writer’s Minor Holiday” portends a young man enjoying the freedom of the open road and some “Irish whiskey glasses” along the way. Calexico rarely relinquishes their purposely unspecific lyrical themes.

The album’s final section slinks into moonlighted musical themes that aren’t as interesting as tend to pale in comparison to the lure of that first third of nuggets. This is all culminates in the spooky closer “Contention City” – where an ambient curtain of electric piano and glockenspiel resonated alongside steel guitar. The song has the synergic touch of Tortoise’s Doug McCombs. For an album that escapes the collaboration within Calexico, Dust entrances the ear when it pulls away from the microscopic indie-rock meets the Southwest world that Calexico’s inhabited for so many years.

The small problem with this new release is that some songs are eerily reminiscent of Feast of Wire – namely “Victor Jara’s Hands” of “Quattro (World Drifts In)” and “Fractured Air” of “Dub Latina.” These similarities are mostly because the band have created a distinctive sound that they’ve finally chosen to capitalize on. Another musical dust storm may slough off much of what they’ve done on Dust but Calexico’s jazzy snare-and-bass heartbeat remains.
78%

“Two Silver Trees” – Calexico

Calexico on MySpace

Blackbird Harmony is Texan Ethan Birdsong (great name). Anyone who has George Jones as a MySpace friend is going to be worth a listen, and with influences from Hank Williams to Joy Division is also likely to be viewing a battered world through a whisky glass – drained of liquid but full to the brim with sorrows. And so it is: don’t come looking for a pick-me-up here.

On this album he is backed by a band and female vocalist Mara Lee Miller (singer/songwriter of Bosque Brown) shares the limelight on several tracks – almost to the extent of deserving dual billing in terms of the decorative variation she brings to Birdsong’s laments. He has no sickly sweet country voice to match his name. Instead, it’s darkly gothic country folk all the way with a mix of a flat growling Jay Farrah and a straining Neil Young. That very voice initially made this a tricky album to recommend up front, yet somehow it becomes a distinctive asset and the album has got its mournful hooks into me. To be frank, I can’t stop playing it.

With the almost relentlessly downbeat atmosphere, Mara Lee Miller is most welcome and if anything is reminiscent of Christa Meyer from Puerto Muerto with a slight drawl. Her well judged additions put paid to any possibility of the album trailing off into a succession of dirges. Not for nothing is one track called ‘Samaritans’ – though throughout the lyrics are fine enough to maintain interest. In the face of all this, the wonderful ‘Caution & Dispatch’ is the easiest way in – a sublime male/female harmonising duet in classic style that Gram and Emmylou would have been proud of and featuring lonesome pedal steel from Danny Crelin. That’s no fluke either – lingering opener ‘Hardwood Exits’ and ballad ‘Tonight… If It’s the Last Time I See You’ are among others also graced with classy aching tones that might just have you welling up.

‘Picture Of You’ matches the old time feel of ‘Caution & Dispatch’, but with typically barbed lyrics: “Just how broken must you be / To Love a man like me?” It appeared on his 2004 debut Angels With Outstretched Hands pared back, slower, and even sadder. The sole track that does raise the pace a little is ‘Searchlights’ though the tales of emotional damage continue: “Bruises that we never feel / Blisters that we keep concealed“. The whole collection finishes on an uncharacteristic squeal of feedback – a final note of discomfort to match the mental disquiet dished out to all who’ll listen. Birdsong has been that tortured stranger spilling his life story to all and sundry at the bar, and it has been hypnotic and haunting.

A complete set of demos recorded solo in one night and emphasising the minimalist misery is available for download here, which just proves that Birdsong has a generous streak to match his melancholic one. With just eight tracks and less than twenty-five minutes, this is short but oh so bittersweet. Enjoy – if that’s not some kind of oxymoron.
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Blackbird Harmony on MySpace
Blackbird Harmony Official Site

British Country music has been a bit of a weird genre. How can a bunch of kids in the centre of London know how to play country music? Can they “live” country music like their American cousins across the pond? To be honest, up until relatively recently, the thought and sound of British Country had sent shivers down my spine. No one’s really stood out as a banner holder for this burgeoning scene. Especially when it’s compared to what the “real” country guys are making… Fleet Foxes anyone? However, this might all begin to change. Grantura have been playing live for a number of years now and their debut album has been sometime in the making. Can they finally banish the embarrassment of UK Country?

Well, unfortunately, the answer isn’t a resounding YES. Now I’ve caught Grantura live a couple of times. A friend of mine actually used to play drums for them and In Dreams and Other Stories has been talked about for some time. They were courted by labels far and wide. So it’s great to finally hear that all their hard work has paid off and they’ve finally produced that Holy Grail of music, the debut album. The only problem is, it feels a bit flat.

Now whether this is down to the rather muddied production or the fact that the guys in the band have been playing these songs for such a long time that their charm has worn off, it’s hard to say. What’s even more annoying is the fact that when they get it right, and nail it, there’s some truly great moments here. Album opener ‘Waves’ sounds like the meeting of Fleet Foxes and The Coral – a song with vocal harmonies to melt the iciest heart and the charm to make you hark back to summers in tall grass enjoying the, long forgotten, sun. This is quickly followed by one of their best songs, ‘In Dreams’ which is practically perfect. Stacks of Neil Young guitars, banjo and layered vocal harmonies with a great intro that makes you banish all doubts you might have had about Britaina (sorry…).

However, it can’t live up to this initial high. Only twice more does it recapture this original optimism. The dusky and Weller-esqure ‘Down From The Mountain’ and the relatively sprawling ‘Land of the Big Skies’ with it’s great interplay of acoustic and peddle steel before it bursts into rolling guitars and a bristling anthem. Unfortunately the rest of the tracks just sound a bit tired and flat. With all the work that’s lead up to this release, perhaps they would have been better off writing some new tunes. Yes, it’s nice to go into the studio with a bank of pre-written material ready to record, but perhaps it’s become too familiar. This shows promise, but next time around they could do with just freshening things up a bit.
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Grantura on Myspace

Well, we say Ryan Adams – the new album Cardinology (er…great title there Ry – really inspired) will actually be billed as just Cardinals. Seems like Ryan got his own way this time after last years battle with Lost Highway to have their the Cardinals name featured on Easy Tiger. It ended up not only being released as a Ryan Adams solo LP but with a lonesome looking Adams on the cover. Which, as far as I’m aware, was far removed from what Ryan originally intended for the album. A ‘full band’ affair was the plan.

Anyhoo – Cardinology (seriously, could they not come up with a better title than that?!) gets its release on October 28th via Lost Highway. Shitty title aside, I for one couldn’t be more excited. Tracklisting is as follows:

1. “Fix It”
2. “Magick”
3. “Let Us Down Easy”
4. “Like Yesterday”
5. “Go Easy”
6. “Sink Ships”
7. “Born Into A Light”
8. “Cobwebs”
9. “Crossed Out Name”
10. “Natural Ghost”
11. “Evergreen”
12. “Stop”

In support of the release, Cardinals will be touring the UK in November. I quite fancy the Brixton date myself.

November
10th – Manchester, Academy
11th – Newcastle, Academy
13th – Leeds, Academy
16th – Cambridge, Corn Exchange
17th – Birmingham, Academy
19th – Brighton, Dome
20th – London, Brixton Academy
22nd – Southampton, Guildhall

Visiter is the second album to be released by American psychedelic folksters The Dodos. The duo formed in San Francisco back in 2006 with originally just one member, Meric Long whom toured around the city as a one-man acoustic act going by the name of Dodobird. After studying Western African Ewe drumming Long began to take a strong interest in blues and set out to fuse the two together creating a sound, which revolved around percussion as the centrepiece. He was later introduced to progressive metal drummer Logan Kroeber and soon after The Dodos were born and released their first album in 2006, Beware the Maniacs. Some rigorous touring later and they have now returned with an album, which promises thoughtful lyrical content, a variety of quirky yet well-structured acoustic arrangements, and more importantly some damn good drumming.

Much of the album feels repetitive with chugging drums and bells accompanied by low acoustic plucking and Fleet Foxes inspired vocal sets. Although it’s repetitive nature may warn many ears away you’ll soon know doubt succumb to their dulcet tones and become lulled into a state of calm. ‘Red and Purple’ has shades of The Shins and even The Guillemots with its melodic choruses but given a twist with glockenspiels and beach bum maracas. ‘Joe’s Waltz’ however does not follow suit for its epic 7 minutes and 22 seconds duration, half way through you are immediately jolted from your comfy folk paradise to a full blown Black Keys style blues fest. Rabid guitars, wailing and cowbells become the way forward.

The band’s ambitions on this album were to capture the live energy they produce at gigs, which is why many of the tracks sound unpolished and tinny in places. This certainly does invoke a sense of “liveness” and many tracks sound as if they would wilt in impact if polished off in production, this is particularly evident on the enchantingly melancholy ‘Park Song’. Drummer Logan Kroeber’s rhythmic and frantic percussion sets sit perfectly alongside Meric Long’s gentle plucking and strumming. Combined with Long’s angelic yet awkward vocals they manage to create a beautiful and intense stark sound.

It’s refreshing to see a band so intent on focusing on percussion and actually doing it well and imaginatively. Kroeber is even said to have recorded the majority of the album with tambourines strapped to his feet. Many acoustic acts at the moment seem tired and generic whereas the Dodos seem to have managed to take Lo-Fi by it’s ambient little horns and transform it into something far more interesting with a great deal more substance.
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The Dodos on Myspace

The ‘Red Dirt Girl’ scubbed up pretty well. This photo: Simon Leak

What’s a year without an Emmylou Harris concert? A pretty lousy year I would suggest. But after last October’s joyous visit to the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass festival, I had some reservations as to whether this might prove to be an anti-climax. It’s true the open air atmosphere there could not be topped, and I do have a soft spot for the purity of her bluegrass Carolina Star line-up, but the touring band that Emmylou has assembled this year was a revelation. As you might expect for someone with her contacts and stature, they were assuredly gifted and yet had the generous sensibility to complement rather than compete with the most exquisite instrument on show – Emmylou’s peerless voice. With the history of several, shall we say, rumbustuous characters who have contributed to/graduated from Emmylou’s touring academy over the years I’m pretty sure this tough Southern belle could put anyone who happened to step out of line back in their place anyway. Maybe that’s another reason why she still sports cowboy boots beneath the shimmering cream glad rags that sparkled angelically from centre stage. To paraphrase the old standard, the rest of those angels were most definitely rejoicing in heaven last night, if a little further back than the upper balcony (but then they do get in for free don’t they).

There seemed a fine balance between electric, acoustic, rock and traditional elements in the skills of the band that enabled them to tackle the widest range of styles present in Emmylou’s rich back catalogue. Of this she seemed fully aware as she grabbed the opportunity to plunder it far and wide – rolling back the decades as well as featuring five tracks from this year’s All I Intended To Be. In fact, with exactly half the show lifted from or subsequent to The Wrecking Ball, her 1995 watershed album of reinvention, I can’t think of a single artist of her reputation and longevity whose recent work fits so seamlessly with that of the past. Indeed, Emmylou has continued to grow as an artist, most definitely finding her feet with her own song writing now in addition to continuing to wear her wondrous “interpretation hat“, as she put it, most elegantly. It could be all about the singer not the song with her vocal talent, but she’s damn good at picking the right songs too. Before recent cut ‘Broken Man’s Lament’ she generously told of her “grovelling” apology to writer Mark Germino after the early production typo that credited the song to herself, and self deprecatingly admitted to having dropped a crucial verse the previous night that meant this narrative tale lost much of its impact. It was performed with the first inkling of suppressed power from the band, that later also surfaced under the beautiful wailing chorus of ‘The Pearl’. A further cover from the latest album, ‘Kern River’, was a treat, with Emmylou loving to perform it because; as she said with a smile “it’s just so sad“. There’s a perversity in the love of the beauty of these melancholic songs that’s shot right through her country music. Emmylou acknowledged this when again in interpreter mode introducing ‘Pancho And Lefty’. Quoting Townes Van Zandt on the existence of just two kinds of music: “The blues and zippedy-do-da“, then giggling: “I’m pretty sure you’re going to hear the blues tonight“.

The Apollo is a venue Emmylou knows well and likes, having headlined here since the mid seventies. She paused to pay tribute to the UK (and Dutch) audiences who had sustained her when things were more desperate at home – as she said, it got so bad that she used to admit: “Yes I play country – but I don’t inhale“. A fan is always going to miss a few personal favourites (Steve Earl’s ‘Goodbye’ is just so exquisitely poignant, and Emmylou’s own ‘Gold’ for example), but by the same token there are always unexpected treasures to compensate. With an audience fully seated and generally ageing with her of course, there’s a respectful reverence about the proceedings, but swells of applause and the occasional whoop great every song, with some additional vocal appreciation after the more up-tempo numbers. I hope she felt the love. It’s a decidedly knowledgeable crowd too, with warm receptions at the start of older favourites or at the mention of a famed songwriter. There was a special greeting for ‘Return of the Grievous Angel’, the first of a couple of Gram Parsons numbers. It was an unspoken salute acknowledged by both audience and performer.

The sound was crisp and well-mixed from my location, with Emmylou’s voice given the space to float out across the audience and hit home. It was actually about the best I’ve heard her live, without even the couple of songs to warm up that I’d come to expect. It’s not widely known that Emmylou has been employed as a session guitarist in the past too. Nice to know she’s got something to fall back on should the voice pack up. As if. Those picking skills were most exhibited during ‘Going Back To Harlan’ and ‘Bang The Drum Slowly’ – the song written for her air force pilot father (a Korean War P.O.W.) and performed almost solo with a touching hummed ‘Last Post’ twist at the end. The more moving, almost for the first time for me, for being stripped of the ponderous billowing background tones that weigh it down on record. It’s almost a given such is his ability, but mandolin and violin maestro Rickie Simpkins was understatedly economical yet affecting throughout, with an especially sweet mandolin break during Green Pastures and also a fine voice for general harmony duties (actually spread throughout the band) and dueting on ‘Old Five and Dimer Like Me’, a track Emmylou “finally got old enough to sing“. He was also one third of the trio that held the audience in silent rapture for the a cappella ‘Bright Morning Stars’. Emmylou never shirks from testing her own mettle with these naked displays of her talent, and she never fails to pass the test. Colin Linden’s subtle slide guitar provided texture throughout, and when not on electronic keys, the relative novelty of sweet accordion from Phil Madeira added colour to several new arrangements. He completed the ‘Bright Morning Stars’ trio too – even appropriately removing his hat for what Emmylou termed “the Vespers”. Brian Owings and Chris Donahue were in the boiler room on drums and bass respectively. Opening act Kimmie Rhodes came out to sing the song she co-wrote that featured on Emmylou’s album of collaborations with Mark Knopfler, ‘Love and Happiness’ (from All The Road Running), and stayed out front to lend her rounder, sweeter, voice to ‘Shores Of White Sand’. Apologies to Kimmie that my particular ticket arrangements on the night meant I could not see her set – not something I make a habit of doing.

The set list has seen some variation each night, which again is a feature of Emmylou’s love of playing live and of “working up a song” on the road. ‘Red Dirt Girl’ had a particularly enjoyable new feel, with Emmylou quick to point out that she had to lie and feign unhappiness when she wrote the tenuously autobiographical song about growing up in the place of her birth: Alabama. To tour as long as she has, the need to make music must be in your blood, and that is especially evident when Emmylou lets her hair down in songs like the honky-tonking ‘Born To Run’ and the fervent zeal of ‘Get Up John’ – demonstrating the primary reason for still wearing those boots as she jigs around the stage, often enjoying just being one of the band and withdrawing to let another take the spotlight with a solo. The latter song didn’t trigger the stage rush of last October in San Francisco, but it was as ever a storming finale to the main set and the signal for a deserved standing ovation.

The encore started with a lengthy intro tale featuring legendary road manager and body snatcher Phil Kaufman (Parsons/The Stones/Emmylou). If I caught the whole story correctly, he has recently married his ex-girlfriend of 40 years ago. They became estranged, led separate lives, and then got back in touch across continents via the internet. On the third date of the rekindled love affair he proposed, and Emmylou played the song that followed, ‘Together Again’, at the wedding reception. The punch line though, delivered with Emmylou’s dry wit, was her quoting him: “You know, when you get this old ’til death us do part’ is really no big deal“. I need to read his autobiography one day. The most energetic song was saved until last: ‘Leaving Louisiana In The Broad Daylight’. As Kaufman would say, the “chick singer” had not come remotely close to disappointing after all. It’s a nice change to leave a concert without ringing eardrums; an absolute pleasure to see an artist who knows that power is about the heart rather than the volume dial, and this was truly an emotional blast. See you next year Emmylou, and anyone reading this should make sure they’re there too.

Here I Am
Orphan Girl
Sweet Dreams Of You
Blue Kentucky Girl
Return of the Grievous Angel
Kern River
Sailing Round the Room
Going Back To Harlan
Pancho and Lefty
Red Dirt Girl
Love And Happiness
Shores of White Sand
???? (The perils of writing in the dark)
Broken Man’s Lament
Wheels
Green Pastures
Born to Run
–Band Intros
Bang The Drum Slowly
The Pearl
Old Five and Dimer Like Me (ft. Rickie Simpkins)
Bright Morning Stars (ft. Rickie Simpkins & Phil Madeira)
Get Up John
–Encore
Together Again
Leaving Louisiana In The Broad Daylight

Emmylou on MySpace
Emmylou Official Site

Howe Gelb has been in my periphery for a while, but I’ve never bothered myself enough to seek out his music. Then I was given for review proVISIONS, his first Giant Sand album in four years. Now, I’ve experienced my share of “grower” albums over the years, but there are grower albums and then there are albums that slap you upside the head when you least expect it. My first impression of proVISIONS was indifferent at best and completely uninterested at worst. I gave it two or three subsequent listens, but with no more of a positive outcome, I shelved it, planning to give it one more listen closer to release date, bang out a review, and be done with it. The album, however, had other plans as it wormed its way into my subconscious so masterfully that my planned final spin of the album blew me away just a little bit.

Gelb’s Giant Sand project, in its many past incarnations, has continually attracted respected musicians from around the globe, a trend that continues on proVISIONS with guest spots from Isobel Campbell, Neko Case and M. Ward. Perhaps it’s because the band has adopted this revolving-door philosophy that Gelb describes Giant Sand as “a mood”. It’s most certainly a mood steeped in the southwestern atmosphere of his Tucson, Arizona home. Album opener/Isobel Campbell duet ‘Stranded Pearl’ is a microcosm of the desert portrait that is proVISIONS, as Gelb’s sparse, deep drawling vocals make way for twangy guitar and lyrics such as “You stand with one boot upon my fender, reflecting on my glass eye“. ‘Without A Word’ showcases Gelb’s ability to teeter the line between speaking and singing, and is beautifully embellished with Neko Case’s smoky intonations.

The opening two tracks certainly set expectations high, but rollicking, rockabilly, M. Ward-assisted ‘Can Do’ and sprawling, mariachi-tinged ‘Out There’ prove worthy of the challenge. Highlights just keep rolling on with a rather sultry cover of PJ Harvey’s ‘The Desperate Kingdom Of Love’. Piano-centric ‘Spiral’ is a lovely detour before Gelb hits us with ‘Muck Machine’, a jangly and rhythmic outing. Gelb puts an exclamation point on his latest outing with the crescendoing and explosive ‘Well Enough Alone’: “Now I’m never gonna leave, I’m never gonna leave well enough alone“.

To borrow the title of Giant Sand’s previous album, the songs on proVISIONS are all over… the map. Yet they manage to come together and form a cohesive and highly enjoyable album. The more I learn about Howe Gelb the more I wonder why I never embraced his music before now. With his blending of lo-fi experimental Americana and DIY spirit, it’s easy to see why he has remained, albeit a relatively obscure, staple of rock music for over twenty years.
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Giant Sand on MySpace

The Agnostic Mountain Gospel Choir have been together for five years now and continue to bash out their mixture of back-of-beyond mountain folk, “gospel for the unbeliever”, and delta blues with the ferocity and abandon of punk rockers, which is exactly what their old inspirational predecessors would have been doing, or course. More (urban) hillbillies high on hooch than Soggy Mountain Boys, it’s a fine tradition to maintain, and I’m happy to add my bit in support. Hailing from Calgary, Canada, their first release was completely DIY but got them noticed and spots at various roots music festivals followed. Since then they have continued to rustle up a storm with raw mix of slide guitar, banjo, harmonica, stand-up bass, and drums, and Judd Palmers dry guttural vocals crying out for attention – if often straining to reach for real impact.

There’s stomping hand-clapping revivalism from the get-go with ‘Go Back Home’, and a further highlight is ‘Life Is Long’ – full of nifty acoustic picking over another tub-thumping (literally) beat. There’s a welcome Canadian French/Cajun interlude to mix things up a bit, and in case you think that they’re just a bunch of Canadian rednecks living in the past, ‘You Got It Wrong’ is a diatribe against Bush and the US involvement in the Middle East. However, personally a whole album of this very and deliberately authentic sound is a lot to take in one listen without the live buzz. Aside from the real belters it can become repetitive and I have enjoyed it much more mashed up with other selections or periodically to return to after spending time with other very different styles. More power to them and their infectious dedication to the traditions of the music they love. It’s just that, as with the blues in general, I love it live but rarely spend time listening to recordings. But, if you have any leanings towards roots music, it might be right up your neck of the ol’woods, or at the very least ripe for cherry picking tracks from your download supplier or choice.
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Agnostic Mountain Gospel Choir on MySpace

The sixth album from Hawaiian-born singer-songwriter Mason Jennings is a bit of a treat. In The Ever is varied and well-written, a patchwork of solid, well put together songs which together encompass humour, romance and tragedy.

It opens with “Never Knew Your Name” and “Something About Your Love”, which is possibly unwise as they’re the two most straightforward and predictable songs on offer here. They’re satisfying enough, but they’re not a patch on the much stronger and braver tracks Jennings has for us later on the album – luckily we only have to wait until the third track to hear “I Love You And Buddha Too”, a very funny song about Jennings’ view that all world religions are facets of the same thing. “Oh Jesus I love you” Jennings sings, “and I love Buddha too / Rama Krishna Gurudev / Dao Dei Jing and Muhammad”. All this is captured over a jaunty piano line and ever-building percussion.

Even more overtly comedic is “Your New Man”, a breaking-up-and-getting-back-together song sung in an amusingly OTT countrified way. With live crowd noise acting as a sort of laughter track for the gags in the lyrics, the song is very hard not to enjoy – “he probably fixes things around your place when they break / If he says he likes your cooking he’s a fake”. The musical accompaniment is just acoustic guitar, meaning that the triumvirate of the crowd, Jennings, and his guitar make the song very intimate-sounding.

At the other end of the spectrum is “My Perfect Lover”. Long and slow, the song is a contemplative song about love and loss. Somehow Jennings makes the simplest rhymes deeply satisfying in this context, his voice joined only by guitar, subtly brushed drums and the occasional piano note. The unrelenting slowness of the pace manages to deepen the tragic tone rather than simply being boring, which is a very difficult line to walk indeed. The tone contrasts hugely with some of the earlier songs on the album, so this one is wisely placed towards the end. Happily though, Jennings doesn’t place another slow track at the album’s end as so many artists do – instead we have the very lively “Sassafrass” which again uses rhyme and homophony as its main tools. There are some classic lines here too - “Ashes to ashes and dust to dust / If you don’t use my love it’ll turn to rust.”

Whilst far from perfect, In The Ever is full of such interesting songs – elsewhere there’s “Soldier Boy” (mercifully not a cover of “Crank That (Soulja Boy)”… although in retrospect, that would be an interesting proposition) with its great wordless chorus, and the dense “Going Back To New Orleans” which uses a unique multiple harmonica effect to create a fuzzy wall of sound against which the rest of the song is pitched. No two songs sound alike, and each works both in isolation as part of the greater whole. A charming and soundly constructed set of songs, In The Ever is definitely well worth a look.
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Mason Jennings on MySpace

Now 28, Conor Oberst famously began his recording career at the age of 13. Since those early years, his solo career has taken something of a back seat, with most of his material coming as part of various bands, mostly Bright Eyes, whose last release was the well-received Cassadaga from last year. Taking a break from that band, Oberst travelled down to Mexico and through January and February of this year, recorded this self-titled album of folky country rock. The act of leaving the US and going to Mexico is directly referenced here in “NYC-Gone, Gone”, but forms part of a wider, recurring theme of starting again. “Sausalito”, for example, talks about making a change to living on a houseboat – and on “Moab”, Oberst asserts that “there’s nothing that the road cannot heal”. Specifically, the album was recorded with the so-called “Mystic Valley Band” in the town of Tepoztlán, believed by the Aztecs to have been the birthplace of the deathly feathered serpent god, Quetzalcoatl. The story goes that when a European explorer unearthed a statue of said god, he found it so horrific that he promptly reburied it – I think we can be sure that history will be kinder to this album, which as it turns out is pretty good.

Opener “Cape Canaveral” is possibly the album’s strongest track and has its own theme of nostalgia – it looks back to the space missions launched from the titular site, amongst other things. It has a wonderfully bittersweet lilt to it, and forms a great opener to this varied album which refuses to settle entirely into a specific musical style. Even though it’s only a touch over four minutes long, “Cape Canaveral” sounds quite epic, like a picturesque, nostalgic document. Oberst’s voice carries the song, over quite a subtle guitar arrangement, supported by little more than a quiet stamping and one or two momentary expeditions into radio static.

At the other end of the spectrum are songs like the aforementioned “NYC-Gone, Gone” which starts out like a football chant and ends like a thrilling slice of anthemic hard rock – as one of the album’s shortest tracks, you almost wish it was longer and more fleshed out, with a reprise of the excellently heavy ending, but it stands well alone as a brief moment in the wider scene of the album. The whole thing rides on a simple but fun cyclic electric guitar riff, and is over almost as soon as it begins. Compare this to the album’s other tiny track though, “Valle Mystico (Ruben’s Song)” – which just seems like a completely pointless excursion into self-indulgence which only serves to break up the album’s flow.

Elsewhere is the frenetic “I Don’t Want To Die (In A Hospital)” which does pretty much what it says on the tin narratively, but is noteworthy for its jumpy interplay between piano and guitar, and well as Oberst’s amusing and increasingly frantic and desperate vocal delivery. “Lenders in the Temple” is disappointingly dissimilar to Prince’s 1990 hit “Thieves in the Temple” but is a good song nevertheless – atmospheric, haunting and effective. There are some oddly cryptic lyrics, too – “that circus tiger’s gonna break your heart”, and “there’s pink flamingos living in the mall”.

This album never sticks with one theme, style or tempo for long, which can be a bit jarring. It also doesn’t quite maintain a high standard all the way through – “Milk Thistle” is a fairly cryptic closing song about death, but like some of the other more down-tempo songs it doesn’t quite have the appeal of the album’s first half. Nevertheless, Conor Oberst is a solid album and marks an impressive return after several years for Oberst’s solo career.
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Conor Oberst on MySpace

This release sees Pennsylvanian Jefferson Pepper two thirds of the way through his ambitious 50 song project to try and answer the question “What has happened to my country?” via an examination of American social history as evidenced by the lives of ordinary people. Pepper set about this task after being both inspired by Howard Zinn’s book A People’s History of the United States and perplexed by the legal wrangles of Christian fundamentalists to deny the theories of evolution – which all took place in a court near his home town. Pepper is no stranger to going against the majority grain – his 2005 debut Christmas in Fallujah was full of songs calling the bluff of the American dream.

The first volume of the trio (same design, red background) covered the period from Columbus to the depression in, as you would expect, a roots country and Americana feel reflecting the instrumentation of those times. Here that progresses to also include flavours of folk, rock and even punk as we journey up to 1989, though the underlying thread is still “country music for people who hate Country music”, as Pepper puts it, delivered largely as protest songs, if a bit too sweetly for their own good. The third and final instalment (blue background) is released towards the end of the year.

Topics range from runaway materialism (“He who dies with most stuff wins” – ‘Disposable Me, Disposable You’) and the daily blue-collar struggle against economic disparity (‘Break the Chain’), to plastic surgery (‘The Ballad of Betty Wulfrum’), drugs (‘Orphans of Endorphins’) and religion (‘Crucify’), stretching from the beaches of Normandy to Three Mile Island. Unfortunately, the back story and concept for this album is ultimately more interesting than the actual recording. The lyrics are more than serviceable in an honest storytelling style and the messages are earnest and valid, but there are few songs to go back to. It may have more impact in the conservative bastions of the US that it targets, but is also less likely to be heard by the very people it seeks to educate. In preaching to the converted, it might have you snoozing during the sermon.

Two tracks that do stand out are ‘Ben’ and ‘One Percent’. The former is Rolf Harris’s ‘Two Little Boys’ given a ‘Born On The Fourth Of July’ makeover and is just as sentimental – a softly delivered tale of childhood friendship, separation by way of academic achievement and the draft respectively, and the crushing of one life by the Vietnam experience. Parallels with the Iraq situation of course, and entirely predictable and sickly sweet; but the melody sticks and Pepper’s generally weak voice is allowed prominence. The latter is a spoken word diatribe on the inequality of wealth distribution over an electronic backing which makes it unique in this collection and the whole thing reminds of Paul Hardcastle’s (N-n-n-n-)’19’. Elsewhere, noticeable failings are found in the punk finale of ‘Another White Line’ which feels palpably like a forced pastiche, as with a previous rock’n’roll era track, and some of the American rock style songs see Pepper’s vocals failing to dominate even a lacklustre guitar sound and get across the barbs present in his words. Thus they appear more like mindless Kid Rock celebrations than damning indictments.

All in all, this rarely rises above the level of an academic exercise that may be admired but does not inspire, and it’s a bit of a shame to have to come to that conclusion. Few of its home truths have not been examined before, and the overall result is a fairly stale album that just doesn’t gel, and lacks any real sense of making you sit up and listen to what Pepper has to say.
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Jefferson Pepper on MySpace

A rushed Monday morning commute was not the most conducive environment to give this album its first airing, but some tracks from Micah P.Hinson‘s third and latest are so heart-wrenchingly poignant that I was almost welling up onto another mans shoulder. That’s an indication of the usual cattle crush ride on the tube rather than a little nugget of personal disclosure, but you get the picture.

With a passing resemblance to a young myopic Elvis Costello, the slow rumbling Texan drawl that emerges from Hinson’s wry frame seems to much closer match expectations based upon his unsettled personal history of addiction and mental illness, money problems and vagrancy, a jail term, and a painful back condition that endured during this recording. I suppose I’m a subscriber to the ‘troubled artist’ theory – at least to have had experiences from which to draw creative intensity if not currently facing obstacles; and all that is, as typically for Hinson, evident here. But the album also often hints at a flickering light at the end of the tunnel, and at those points seems to be some kind of cathartic celebration. The biggest source of his salvation must be his new(ish) wife. He actually proposed at the end of a show at London’s Union Chapel late last year, and parts of the album are practically a love letter to his muse.

The opening track is a lyrically repetitive throw-away that leaves little impression other than setting the atmosphere of low key sepia sincerity, but the next is the first of the emotional big hitters. Hinson has undergone a transition from a despondent state of “Constantly craving what isn’t mine” (‘Tell Me It Ain’t So’), through struggling hopefully “having these dreams, that you were all I needed” (‘I Keep Havin’ These Dreams’) to praising the newly won “Love of my life” (‘Sunrise Over The Olympus Mons’). Nothing beforehand quite prepares you for this lovelorn mid-album peak; as monumental a statement as the mountain (on Mars: the largest known to man) it name checks. Frazzled but still understated reverb guitar lifts off from a gentle strum of a tune and sears like a flaming cattle brand into you consciousness. It’s a rare moment of electric intensity too – lo-fi, but rich, acoustic dominates elsewhere. Crisp guitar playing and beautiful combinations of chamber strings and subtle swirling Hammond organ make the melancholy audibly bittersweet. On several cuts it is these elements that provide the interest as lines of lyrics are repeated. There may be muted banjo picking here and there, and some expressive fiddle playing too. Hinson even borders on jolly occasionally, with ‘When We Embraced’, and the Richard Hawley-esque ‘We Won’t Have To Be Lonesome’, but the sorrow and woe is never far away. ‘The Fire Came Up To My Knees’ sees Hinson at his most exposed, musically and spiritually, and ‘You Will Find Me’ and ‘The Wishing Well And The Willow Tree’ have a sweeping south-western gothic feel.

The killer punch though is the final track: ‘Dyin’ Alone’ puts a lingering twist in your gut. It has an effortless tragic beauty than leaves you feeling quite numb. When Hinson sings “I’m not afraid of the suffering or the pain / I’m just afraid of dyin’ alone“, you know he has the past experience to seriously weigh up the comparison. Late Johnny Cash could not have etched a more striking lament. Micah P. Hinson doesn’t do flamboyance in any form. Apart from the obvious handful, the remaining tracks might not be as immediately memorable, but stick with it and this could be a collection you’ll treasure for a long time.
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Links
Micah P. Hinson [official site] [myspace]

Langhorne Slim a.k.a. Sean Scolnick is a restless raucous purveyor of acoustic folksy-bluegrass-punk with a larger than life persona seeming to be a mix of the rough cool of Tom Waits, Joe Strummer, and Woody Guthrie – whilst being still a couple of years off thirty. The ‘Langhorne’ moniker refers to his Pennsylvanian place of birth, and his energetic low-fi, almost skiffle, sub-three minute nuggets are often given an intelligent musical twist courtesy of his degree from the Conservatory of Music no less at Purchase College, New York. There’s a bowed double-bass riff that drives ‘Spinning Compass’, a barping trombone on ‘Rebel Side Of Heaven’ and judicious Hammond organ, ragtime piano, and accordion flavouring elsewhere. Only on ‘Hello Sunshine’ does Slim wield an electric guitar, otherwise strumming like a dervish, or like a dervish with an acoustic guitar anyway. His cracked lived-in voice stands out above all the homespun old-time hell-raising and enhances lyrics otherwise not particularly deep with a dusting of world-weary wisdom.

At his barnstorming best on scorching tambourine workout ‘She’s Gone’, kind-of-less-uptight-Dylanesque ‘Tipping Point’, and the joyous unwinding at the close of the slower paced ‘Colette’, the more thoughtful numbers are not quite as successful at keeping the attention. However, ‘Worries’ bumbles cheerily along with a smile, and the best of such efforts ‘Hummingbird’ is craftily saved until last. Regular backing band the War Eagles consist of just upright bass and drums, so expect energy and charisma to compensate for missing arrangements at live shows. Fortunately Langhorne Slim has got both those qualities in spades and reports are universally positive, so if he comes a-stomping and a-hollering near you then get along. Greatness may be lurking around the corner.
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[Download Langhorne Slim]

Links
Langhorne Slim [myspace]

‘Call and Response’ is a storming opening to this album, as appropriate for a lament on exposed social inequality in the wake of hurricane Katrina, and the debut from this Californian Americana seven-piece maintains a self-assured confidence in performance and quality of tune throughout. They have enough members and buckets of twang to get the hoe-down started amongst themselves and for several tracks you’ll be sorely tempted to join in. With two female members, four lead vocalists and everyone else hollering/harmonising as backup when necessary, there’s plenty of variety of vocal delivery, ranging from a Drive By Truckers growl to Gram Parsons plaintive tear jerking. Never as heavy as DBT, their collective performance does bear reference to Whiskeytown, The Band (though inexplicably for an Americana fan, I have always found them particularly tedious apart from a couple of classics), and ‘Death of Me’ is pure Flying Burrito Brothers. My wobbly drunk honky-tonking favourite that one. Even the Soggy Bottom Boys get a shout out with ‘Prayer For The Road’ (or does anyone remember the Boothill Foot Tappers?).

But if half the tracks are upbeat and easygoing, ‘Fixin’ To Leave’ is even borderline poppy, then there are songs of solitude and loss too, just as well executed, with anthemic choruses (‘Life and Death at Sea’, ‘Fight Song’) and male/female duets (‘Isn’t She Awful’). It wouldn’t be proper Americana without alcohol, strained heartstrings, or a banjo, a mandolin, a bit of Cajun accordion (‘Threads’), some gospel (‘Bound to Go Home’) and nice pedal steel work throughout from Tim Marcus – hovering in complimentary fashion around the edges without show-boating.

The album was recorded in two days with hardly any overdubbing, so you might notice some minor slipups, but that’s a plus when the overall atmosphere is of a bunch of friends live on the front porch. Vocalist/guitarist Matt Sartain maintains that “It’s those little imperfections, which give it a real, honest feel”. Their bonding is all the more impressive given that Or, The Whale only formed a couple of years ago, with CVs listing experiences ranging from punk and funk to chamber music; half had never met before answering a local ad. Quite what their rural/southern credentials are I have no idea – they may all be LA metrosexuals for all I know, but it certainly sounds right.

In one sense you may have heard these slightly nostalgic offerings all before, but it’s done very well indeed, well enough to be fresh and worthwhile to this listener. And I usually have an aversion to bands whose names contain punctuation. For the record, it’s the subtitle of the novel Moby Dick. This album is a mixture of roots country stylings that (another) vocalist/guitarist Alex Robins has described as “a big, delicious stew”. That’s comfort food in my book. Please sir, can I have some more?
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Links
Or, The Whale [official site] [myspace]