Attn: freakazoids who like bands like Coalesce, Botch, Converge, but still like to chill and smoke hella weed to bands like Mountain of Wizard, Sleep, or whatever doom the guy at the gas station always talks to you about.
White Fire is a band that you should give your hard earned Internet time for a few spins. The now-defunct St. Louis band is one of those bands that while they’re not around anymore kinda hurts because they’re really fucking good. I can’t say if they got so depressed about living in St. Louis that was the critical factor in their demise, but I do know that it’s a major bummer.
The songs are well rounded and offer some mellow boysetsfire vibes while leaning on that smoke-obsessed stoner that heshers adore. One their ep Burned in Effigy, we’re treated to some moments that harken to lesser known bands like The National Acrobat, or even Keelhaul.
If you’re looking for some solid jams to stroke your beard to, get on this White Fire shit. It delivers on the metal with some touches of prog as the ep delves deeper – which is cool because luckily, it never gets shitty like Mastodon has. I’d take White Fire any day over that sad fest any day of the year.
Sorry, you had to call it a day boys, the screaming guy community is worse off for it.
The thing about Caleb Caudle is he’s not what you expect, like not even sort of. Despite having friends all over the spectrum of country music, Caleb is very much doing his own damn thing.
Sonically, Caleb’s new record Carolina Ghost has more in common with 1980’s stalwarts like Travis Tritt, Randy Travis, Alan Jackson or even the Kentucky Headhunters than anything Johnny Cash or Willie Nelson. And you know what? That’s pretty fucking cool.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about some of the gritty throwback stuff, but I’ll be the first to tell you the term “outlaw” is played out. It’s good to see an artist have the nuts to step out there amongst the sea of posers, armed with a clear vision, going rogue from the trends, and announcing backyard music is cool again.
Caleb Caudle has given you a gift: it's ok to want to pop on a record and drink a beer in the yard. You don't have to be at the juke joint, or pine for the days of the Armadillo in Austin. Nope. This is about as fucking Americana as it gets: good tunes, simple music and honesty worn like a badge of courage. The exact thing folks try to do but seemingly end up sounding like shitty copies of Bruce Springsteen. Carolina Ghost inspires those moments where it’s ok to slow dance to the radio, or just shut up and let the music do the talking.
Carolina Ghost is a throwback for anyone who’s in their 30’s (Editors note: or 40's!) and whose parents listened to country music, or watched that White Horse show where all the white people wore matching denim outfits. Carolina Ghost feels like an old pair of slippers, it’s warm and inviting – there’s no posturing or ultra serious brooding, or photos of empty whisky bottles. Instead, the songs are layered, bright and offer a glimpse back into an era of country music that many are extremely tied to.
One thing that sounds out throughout Carolina Ghost is its sense of identity; that it stands on its own and behind its beautiful songwriting. Caleb’s move from New Orleans back to Carolina feels signature on this record, like the chaos of the city left an impression that will mark him forever, but the calling of the back roads delivered him back to the feet of his heritage.
Carolina Ghost ain’t Folsom Prison, it ain’t the shuck and jive sound of the Nashville machine, and it ain’t trying to sew a Hank Williams patch on the back of a warrior vest. And you know what? That’s pretty fucking cool.
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Carolina Ghost is available on Amazon (vinyl) and Bandcamp.
This review is months late, but in the spirit of “better late than never” – I’d like to extend a sincere HOLY MOTHER FUCKING SHIT to the bros in Vision of Disorder. On their new record, Razed to The Ground, VOD have finally delivered the record their fans wanted: a logical continuation of their seminal record Imprint that all but left the late 90’s in its wake.
While VOD went through a couple of phases and eventually broke up, their fans remained loyal to the past and still clinging to those old records that dropped on Roadrunner years ago. But, all of this plays into the greater Vision of Disorder story: it’s always felt like they were a move ahead of the curve, or just behind whatever trend was gripping metal at the time.
VOD were never big enough to get those big score tours or albums, and that’s always been what their fans wear as a badge of honor because to get and understand Vision of Disorder isn’t for everyone and that’s what makes them honest.
Vision of Disorder is a workingman’s hardcore band. They evolved, took risks and tried their hands at making music that means something, but they never did without the “all or nothing” mentality. If they believed in safety nets, they’d have never released From Bliss to Devastation, which if you follow musical trends, they were WAY ahead, on the whole, stoner/Clutch thing but the problem was that sound didn’t gel with their legacy as brutal hardcore dudes.
From Bliss to Devastation isn’t a bad record, it’s just a jarring when put in comparison to other legacies, just as Cave In who went from defining Boston hardcore to sounding like the Foo Fighters, and then back to hardcore again. In metal, people don’t like reinvention unless it’s been explicit in your musical DNA since the jump. VOD wasn’t one of those bands, and people freaked the fuck out because they went from pile on’s and ESP guitars to Stratocasters and Sabbath riffs.
So, that decision to buck the musical trends didn’t pan out. Oh well.
Had Razed to The Ground dropped about fifteen years ago, it would be a wooly mammoth sized deal, but, unfortunately, a lot of the dudes who used to head walk and finger point at VOD shows across the country, are like dads and have 401K’s now. So, getting asses into clubs and record stores is a challenge. And when you’re dealing with the kids of today, all they understand is super slow breakdowns and ripping off Meshuggah, like they did a decade prior with At The Gates.
Somehow, though, VOD falls within the cracks. Razed to The Ground is a fantastic metalcore record with lightning fast riffs and just enough fuck you that old dudes might consider punching one of their iPhone screens over. This is the record Vision of Disorder fans always wanted.
Sonically, Razed To The Ground is like a baseball bat dipped in gasoline, covered in nails and then brought down directly on an unsuspecting skull. It’s like drinking a case of beer and pissing in an enemy’s wounds. It’s angry, sincere and pulls absolutely no punches. There’s little doubt this record deserves the acclaim of their earlier work. The classic VOD time signatures are there, as along with the bubbling hatred for mankind that marks every track.
It’s a real shame VOD aren’t touring like they used to, but we should be so happy to get such a fantastic record that erases all pretext, and frankly fucking exists at all. The portrait of what VOD has become has scars, burns and bruises, but what’s left is tragic and beautiful at the same time. There’s little room for anything other than a hoisting of a beer in salute to the madness that is Vision of Disorder and from this fat, old dude – it feels great to say “Welcome back fellas. We’ve missed you.”
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Razed to the Ground is available on iTunes and Amazon.
It still escapes me that Quiet Hollers aren’t the darlings of Pitchfork, Paste, or every other music blog covering cool bands that end up on Coachella stages. These dudes should be getting extended interviews in VICE or getting asked what kind of truck stop food they love in the pages of Rolling Stone.
But, that moment is yet to come and typically, I’d chalk it up to the world not being ready or the moment being maybe, just not there yet. This time, though, I demand fucking action.
Quiet Hollers deserve to be selling out big rooms and touring the nation not in a broken down van, but in one of those nice gas guzzlers with a guy’s who’s job it is to drive the bus and let them enjoy playing video games on a tv in the “lounge.”
Quiet Hollers are the perfect example of a band we’d of been peeing our pants over in that “just before everything is available on the internet” phase in the early 00’s that dudes my age long for in some kind of twisted romantic way. Because most kids have shitty taste in music and they like music made by guys name “Crizzly” (Don’t ask me.) All of these awesome bands have to struggle to make a dent in the world, because you know, music isn’t on tv anymore, no one listens to the radio and people think computers are instruments. (Pro tip: they’re not and that EDM shit sucks.) And so all of these rad bands don’t get the coverage they deserve, instead – people flock to the stuff that’s easily tossed in their laps and taken at face value.
Editors note: I stand by my EDM sucks quote. COME AT ME BRO. But, I digress:
On their new self-titled record, Quiet Hollers go light years past their Americana/Lucero/Ryan Bingham styled sound on I Am The Morning and leave it in the dust. On S/T they explore a much different territory that calls upon styles like post-rock, indie, straight rock and roll, but some moments feel like bands like REM or Talking Heads rather than Waylon or Willie inspired them. To maybe even put a finer point on it, Quiet Hollers feel like the logical heirs to the throne of My Morning Jacket and their ilk.
Quiet Hollers S/T is a collection of beautiful writing, layered, brilliant songs. The riffs hit like Louisville Sluggers, without relying on cheap tricks to push the songs over the wall, but instead – they just work. They’re honest, working class sonnets about the tribulations of life as a human on a planet full of completely fucked up people. The record isn’t short existentialism either; it’s got plenty of moments where the human condition to be put through society’s meat grinder is front and center, namely on tracks like "Mont Blanc" or "Departure."
Do the right thing and buy a copy of this record. Then walk into your best friend’s house, throw whatever trash they’re listening to out of the window and accept the consequences. When the friend gets all aggro on you, break out the whiskey and shut the fuck up cuz Quiet Hollers got a lot to say.
One of the most endearing things about Kara Clark is that Kara Clark does not give a fuck what you think. Kara’s Nashville career has been filled with darkness and songs that slither from the speakers with an intense, personal sound that demands attention from the listener, and all on her terms.
In today’s Nashville climate, you’ve got two choices: Play the game or burn the stadium to the ground. And for what it’s worth, Kara’s chosen to flick her Bic, and that’s pretty goddamned respectable.
On Kara’s new ep, The Key, it’s more channeling her rock and roll side than traditional country, which works well with the unique, varying styles of Kara’s vocal delivery.
The hooks are big, and the emotion is palpable instead of that all too slick typical country sound to draw the listener in with something just to tap the steering wheel to.
The Key is more Lucinda Williams that Loretta Lynn, more of Bonnie Raitt after a long night out on the town than Dolly Parton. The Key’s got the kind of guts that feel like a nasty pair of jeans, but the ones that fit just right.
There’s an overwhelming sense of foreboding and darkness throughout The Key, which is a feat, considering Ms. Clark isn’t exactly Sunshine and Rainbows on a good day. The songs feel pissed off, almost vengeful. I’d be hard pressed to think Kara didn’t have someone in mind on a few of these tracks, cuz there’s a very real feeling “die, motherfucker die” happening. A woman scorned would be putting it lightly, but hey I could be talking out of my ass, but…. I wouldn’t want Kara Clark to write a fuck you song about me; that’s for sure.
The one thing that’s on front street throughout The Key is the unabashed honesty in the lyrics. They feel personal and with both middle fingers drawn skyward. She muses deeply about “riding in the backseat,” which feels like sarcastic eye roll toward Nashville’s elite in their sagging pants and backward ball caps. That’s exactly what a lot of country music is missing stories that matter, not bro jams about whores in trucks. Fuck that.
There’s a slow revolution happening in the country music, and I’m one of the optimistic that when the rebels come to power, Kara will be in the thick of the mix, with smeared eyeliner, a bottle of Jack Daniels in her fist, and a guitar case full of songs people need to hear.
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The Key is available on Kara's website, and we'll let you know when it makes its way to digital download sites.
Please welcome writer Robert Dean, formerly of Moonrunners, to FTM as a reviewer! He's got a writing itch and nowhere to scratch it, so we're gonna let him review whatever the hell he wants to on here. Metal, post-rock, country, instrumental... it's all fine with me. Lend him a few minutes and an ear and you might just discover something you had no idea you'd love.
We Lost the Sea - Departure Songs
A review by Robert Dean
I’m gonna be honest, when it comes to instrumental stuff, I typically hear it as background noise. Very rarely does an instrumental record affect like, say an incredible rock and roll band, or even some seriously filthy southern hip hop. I got issues with all kinds of shit, and I get weird and picky when it comes to music in my old man life cycle known as 34 years old. So whateves.
That’s not to say finding an instrumental that blows my socks off doesn’t happen, though. I’m a big fan of Pelican (fucking Australasia, amirite?!), and I’ve been known enjoy some Don Caballero in my day. I enjoy the monolith depression of Neurosis, and I like Today is The Day because I like wearing all black and sport a beard.
But, with We Lost The Sea’s Departure Songs, I was in for an entirely different experience. I know it’s my job as a music critic, or more appropriately “dude who likes to write about records” to explain what a record means, or how it feels with a lot of lush words, and overly used adjectives. While I totally agree with you, I’m struggling to explain the thought process that I’m trying to string together to convey my gratitude for Departure Songs.
Simply put, I’m thankful this record exists.
We Lost The Sea are some rad dudes from Sydney, who are that classic case of liking rad music, playing it, but allowing for that unique Australian isolation creep into their sound. I mean, they’re not rocking the didgeridoo or anything, but there’s a certain level of non-American non-pompousness that’s omnipresent and it’s glorious. Cuz, let’s be honest – a bunch of dudes from the States or London are perfectly capable of creating something beautiful one moment, but then fucking it way up the next – to epic proportions. This record needed to be made in Australia to earn its tiger stripes.
Instead, Departure Songs is like a coloring book of emotions. The songs aren’t these crushing riff monsters or intricate Radiohead knockoffs; rather they’re a layer cake of feelings, thoughts and patience for those moments that if you play music, you know you’ve heard the proverbial “it” all musicians chase.
The songs on the record are bleak, dark, but aren’t depressing. They kind of feel like when you’re alone in your car singing Adele: super happy coupled with super sad, but singing those words makes you feel human because it’s relatable to your experience. We Lost The Sea manage to pull this feat off, but with chorus chants, multiple guitars, and buildups that leave you breathless – and done with no vocals.
On the record’s first track, A Gallant Gentleman, it’s the perfect showcase of what the band is capable of; it’s tragic and sets the mood for the record immediately. Not to be outdone by the magnificent artwork of Departure Songs, A Gallant Gentleman feels as if you’re walking along the bottom of the ocean, invisible to life moving along at its own speed. The wildlife swims past you, and you’re walking toward the unknown. Above, if you crane your neck just right, you’ll see the brightness above, but will you reach the top in your lifetime? These are the barrage of mental images. We Lost The Sea create with their songs.
Each track on Departure Songs was crafted with the idea of an over-arching story that spans human existence. Influenced by the failures of mankind, there’s a sense of calm, but married to honest panic due to our existential nature as apes driving cars while creating religions that kill people. It’s all here, and it’s all scarred into these songs.
Departure Songs isn’t an album that will knock you over immediately like say a sweet Slayer riff from back in 1492 because it doesn’t need to be. Instead, it’s a story that sucks you in a la Tom Waits. In songs like Challenger I & II, you’re tempted to explore the world without a seatbelt, daring the cosmos to fuck with you because in your headphones is your challenge to achieve something beautiful.
If these songs are any indication of that lack of fear and total commitment to the heart, you should pay a service to your record player and invest in a copy of vinyl Departure Songs because it will undoubtedly become a cornerstone in your collection for decades to come.
In the beginning, there was Uncle Tupelo. And the Bottle
Rockets.
Technically, there was Gram Parsons, then Steve Earle. But
if there’s a Ground-and-Year Zero for the alt.country
revival/renaissance (whatever that was), it’s the early 1990s and a stretch
of the Mississippi River Valley near St. Louis.
A public divorce – really more of a crib death – did Uncle
Tupelo in. And almost a quarter-century later, the Bottle Rockets are still getting
it done. Few acts in the genre before or since have captured the blue-collar,
everyman ethos the way front man/lyricist Brian Henneman has, and on South Broadway Athletic Club, he’s eased
into middle age comfortably and without losing a step.
Recorded in his native St. Louis – and for the first time,
at a slow enough place to ensure quality control, by Henneman’s telling – South
Broadway is the band’s 11th studio album and first with Bloodshot
Records. A note about the label: No indie outfit has done more, as their
Twitter bio (@BSHQ) points out to “champion the music that lurks between the
labels since 1994.” Just check the talent-rich roster…and
support an artist or two by making a purchase.
“Monday (Everytime I Turn Around)” opens the album in
Henneman’s trademark wry style with a dash of Roger Miller-esque word play. “There’s
just no controllin’ this rollin’ with the flow, when it’s almost have past now
a while ago.” An aging cow-punk rocker meets the digital age, more exasperated
than pissed.
Henneman’s characters have historically ranged somewhere on
the worn-down/desperate/cynical continuum. This time around some of them
actually enjoy a bit of whimsy.
“XOYOU” is a river rat’s tribute to Tom Jones. If the Welsh
crooner/sex symbol had grown up in Festus, Mo., he’d have had just such a raw
sensibility. With a twang.
“Smile” is a simple, happy love song. Two and a half minutes
of pop sensibility that you can’t not like; it’s as efficient and optimistic as
early Heartbreakers.
But the best two-minute toe-tapper of the bunch is “Dog:” Sometimes life is really just this simple. I
love my dog.
God, ain’t it the truth? The Bottle rockets have arrived at
a spot, looked around, and said, This
ain’t all bad. It’s a little different, but all good.
Turnpike Troubadours feels like the perfect album to self-title. As good, nay great, as they already were, this is the album where the Oklahoma band finds its best self.
I hold this band in high regard: they've graced the upper reaches of FTM year-end lists, I tout them on social media frequently, and "Gin Smoke and Lies" has been my ringtone for a couple of years now. That said, I've always felt there was a certain grayness to TPT's sonic palette. Maybe it was production, maybe the individual players were a little "too" in sync… I'm not well-versed enough in this sort of thing to discern - I just know there was a vague sameness, even amidst the unquestionably peerless talent.
On this record, they let a little color and light in, and it's just enough to fully realize the absurd potential of this group. There's space, separation, and vividness in the sound. The slower songs soar, the rockers punch, and there's fiddle and steel galore. On a good set of speakers, this thing is stunning.
Their writing was already excellent, but they've even upped their game in that department. "The Bird Hunters" tells the tale of a man coming to terms with an ended relationship over the course of a quail hunt. This could come across as hokey or forced in the hands of a lesser act. The Troubadours make it a song-of-the-year candidate, epic, cinematic, and immersive.
Later on there's the heartfelt meta-song "A Little Song," an updated version of sure-fire modern Red Dirt classic "Easton & Main," and a rocking take on alt-country legends Old 97's "Doreen."
Other standouts include all the songs on the album. There are no bad cuts, and only a couple that strike me as anything less than top shelf. Certainly, time could fade my adulation, but that may be more from over-listening than a change of opinion.
You're unlikely to hear another country album better than Turnpike Troubadours in 2015. It's a benchmark, and hopefully a platform for this deserving band to find greater recognition on the national music scene.
The Damn Quails - Out of the Birdcage by Kelcy Salisbury
A few years back Norman, OK musical outfit The Damn Quails released an album, Down The Hatch, that shook up the musical scene throughout their home state, their neighbors to the south, & beyond. The album was roundly praised - it was actually the first album I reviewed for this site (and was FTM's #1 album of 2011) - and the bands trajectory appeared poised for a major breakthrough. A year passed & the album was still selling relatively strongly, and soon two years were gone with little word of any pending projects. The band continued to tour, I continued to poke fun at Bryon White on Twitter, but it seemed like the idea of another studio project was distant at best & the strain of trying to make a living in the music business in this day and age seemed to be pulling the band apart. Eventually word broke that there was an ongoing legal dispute with the record label that had released the debut album, but little was allowed to be said about it, aside from promises of future music once the dispute was resolved. This went on for quite a while, long enough that when the band announced a Kickstarter campaign to fund a new album, I wondered if enough people still cared enough to fund the project (Full Disclosure: yes, I did what I could.), that question was answered in short order as the band easily passed their stated goal & the project was begun.
Usually I try to hear whatever new stuff is available from bands I enjoy, whether it be YouTube videos or whatever. This time around I intentionally avoided hearing any of the new music until I could listen to the entire album. So I waited, until one day last week, when Out Of The Birdcage arrived in the mail, which was slightly more exciting than the Harbor Freight advertisement next to it.
The album opens strong, with the title track leading the way. The harmonies are strong, sounding exactly as the prior album hinted at as a signature sound for The Damn Quails. Lyrically there are few, if any punches pulled, and although the story told may or may not be a metaphor in places, this just sounds like a band that is absolutely thrilled to be working together again in the studio. It is the perfect opener & sets a raucous tone to an album that winds it's weigh through considerable emotional territory in it's 12 tracks. Not everything is as expected though, and that's a good thing as well. I hear a lot more traditional country instrumentation on a few tracks, most notably the fiddle work on "Woody Guthrie (From The Dust)," and the steel on "Just A Little While." One of my favorite things about Down The Hatch was the variety of instrumentation from song to song, and the subtle use of harmony as an instrument, all packaged with gut-punch songwriting. That appears to be fleshed out on Out Of The Birdcage, from the swooping organ on "Give It Some Time," the Stones-like groove on "Tightrope Walker," or the lyrical picture painted in "Man In The Mirror (Girl On The Plane)."
I'm not sure if it's fair to compare one album to another subjectively, and I wouldn't know how to say that one Damn Quails album or another was "better", but I am certain that both are exceptionally honest looks into exactly who the band is musically at that point in time. Down The Hatch sounded exactly like an exceptional group of musicians with diverse influences, making exactly the music they wanted to make. Nothing else sounded quite like it, and they had the live skills to build on the songs in a concert setting. This sounds like the exact same thing, just an election cycle further into life. Very few bands at any level can survive on so little promotion for so long, and they sure can't do it if they don't have the musical chops to keep drawing people into the live shows without having a new product to sell. To do it in this age of short attention spans & shorter shelf lives, speaks as loudly to the talent & heart of each member of The Damn Quails as anything I can say.
If you're reading this & you contributed to the Kickstarter, thank you for helping make this album happen. If not, the album will be out on all the usual outlets today. If you've heard Down The Hatch but waited on this one, buy it. If you don't like it, Bryon White will personally give you a lifetime supply of nothing & Gabriel Marshall will probably come do your dishes too. If this is your introduction to the band, it comes as a great starting point.
Out of the Birdcage will obviously be an early contender for a top year-end rating, so I guess I'd better put some kind of number on it. So give it 5/5 coveys. And go buy it. Seriously.
(Also, now that Swompfyst Records is actually a thing, assuming that one of their head honchos might see this, you really need to get with Javi Garcia & get a logo drawn up & some merch out ASAP. You're welcome for the literally several dollars this idea will surely send your way.)
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Available at all the typical depots, including iTunes, Amazon, Lonestar Music, and Pornhub. Okay, not that last one.
Anyone who’s ever loved the Drive By Truckers has that first, seminal encounter story. Mine was the Friday after Thanksgiving, 2001. I’d heard The Southern Rock Opera (release date: September 12, 2001, how’s that for strange luck?), and been teleported back to my childhood in early-1980s Florida. Real, Southern rock and roll, and nobody else was playing it.
That first show in my immersion: The Nick, in Birmingham. I saw the DBT, and my musical life changed in a bar the size of your living room. For five years, if they were playing within 300 miles, I was on the road. Oh, and at that Nick show? There was this young, third guitarist playing with them. It was his fourth show with the band, and his name was Jason Isbell.
For many DBT fans, it wasn’t until Isbell was gone until they realized he was the backbone of an important band. That band will never be the same, and the three-album run they had with Isbell will forever be considered DBT’s high-water mark.
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Draw a straight line between the last cut of Isbell’s Here We Rest (a hopeful, joyful “Tour of Duty”) and the first song on his new album, Something More Than Free (“If it Takes a Lifetime.”)
That vector was Southeastern, Isbell’s sobriety record, and the notice-serving album that a generation had its songwriting gold standard. Dark? He referred to it in a recent interview as having “a high body count.” A bit of an understatement, unless you were an intimate of Pol Pot. I listened to it twice, the week it came out. Just stopped cutting. I kid.
A story song isn’t worth listening to – or writing, presumably – if it doesn’t pierce a little bit of you. Southeastern’s characters scooped out most of your innards. On Something More Than Free, they offer equal parts hope, redemption and humility, while reminding us their creator is intense even when he lightens up.
“If it Takes a Lifetime” opens the record with a man determined to make the most of a second chance. “I don’t keep liquor here; never cared for wine or beer. And workin’ for the county keeps me pissin’ clear.” It’s a perfect jumping-off point for a follow-up album with a high bar to meet.
“Flagship” packs an album’s worth of tenderness and romance into four minutes, and may be Isbell’s best love song. With its acoustic arrangement and his sweet voice, it’s one you’ll want to hit “repeat” on.
Isbell delves into characters with a level of introspection and incisiveness most writers can’t even contemplate. And with the impending arrival of his first child with wife Amanda Shires, it’s not surprising he takes a couple cracks at the parenthood thing.
“Children of Children” is a sobering look at the topic. Isbell – born when his own mother was 15 – neatly divides the song in two. The first half could be Harvest-era Neil Young acoustic, with a money line: “I was riding on my mother’s hip, she was shorter than the corn. All the years I took from her, just by being born.” It’s punctuated by an instrumental back half that’s both sweeping and orchestral.
“Speed Trap Town” sees a guy who’ll say a final goodbye to an ICU-bound father before leaving for good. “He was a tough state trooper till a decade back, till a girl who wasn’t mama caused his heart attack. He didn’t care about us when he was walking around; just pullin’ over women in a speed trap town.” Lord.
There are dozens of intense couplets like that all over the record; about, in other words, what you’d expect from a songwriting mensch who’s hit such a stride it’s hard to imagine an upper limit.
Isbell has one-upped himself again, this time with an album that actually lets you breathe a little. The opening song’s character vows to “keep my spirits high…find happiness by and by, if it takes a lifetime.” Not unlike, it seems, the artist has.
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Something More Than Free is available Friday (July 17, 2015) EVERYWHERE.
Below, you'll find the two lyric videos Isbell has released for SMTF thus far.
An album doesn't have to be the be-all-end-all showcase of varied sounds and emotions to grab me as something special. It doesn't have to own a perfect balance of upbeat and plaintive moods. It doesn't have to intersperse rockers with ballads with mid-tempos at optimal track positioning. An album simply has set to some part of my psyche afire, open an electrical circuit between me and the music that never switches off for the entire length of the collection.
Whitey Morgan and the 78s' new album Sonic Ranch flips on the neon and never lets it fade from first note to last. It's a right-in-the-pocket ten-track slab of living, breathing, honky-tonking, country music perfection.
Morgan wrote 4 of the 10 songs on Sonic Ranch, the rest being well-chosen covers - or just new versions of older songs - whatever you wanna call 'em. While that may be a questionable approach to some purists (who conveniently forget that Jennings, Jones, and Nelson all sang other people's songs…frequently), it's not even a minor issue for me. Sonically, there's nothing that would prick your ears to the fact that Sonic Ranch is a patchwork of tunes from different artists and writers. Lyrically, the themes are consistent, and besides the obvious high-water marks set by the Tom T. Hall ("That's How I Got to Memphis") and Townes Van Zandt inclusions, there's no glaring variance in the quality of the songwriting.
It's amazing how an artist who's so comfortable in their own boots can almost create something entirely new out of another artist's vision. Whitey takes The Damn Quails' "Me and the Whiskey" from its more airy and folksy origin right into the smokiest barroom in town, sets up the amps and gets badass. As much as I like the original (and freaking love the Quails), Morgan makes this song belong to him and his 78s, turning the thoughtfulness of the former version into a swaggering statement of hard-headed defiance.
Morgan's own "Low Down on the Backstreets" continues the theme of the down-on-love high-on-the-town drinking man. "Take me down on Main Street, play me an old country song, when I get lowdown on the backstreet" he sings, and you're never quite sure if the confidence in his voice is from the strong drink or some inner bravado.
After rumbling through a fine cover of TVZ's "Waitin' Round to Die," Morgan digs in to a stunning take on Scott H. Biram's "Still Drunk, Still Crazy, Still Blue." The cocksureness of the album openers here takes a backseat to a bit more self-reflection and confession. Still, it's hard for a man with the thundering pipes of Whitey Morgan to sound anything more than a little contrite, and that contrast of intent vs. delivery adds to the magic of this adaptation. It's a clear standout on an album without low spots, and one of the strongest covers I've ever had the pleasure of hearing.
"Good Timing Man" removes the mask, and may be the true heart of this record. It's a treatise on the differences between the real man and the country singer who'll "put on a smile and my old guitar" then go backstage to drink away his misery. It's one of the most honest moments on Sonic Ranch, and provides a balance to and an explanation for all the bluster early on and afterwards.
Sonic Ranch is as strong a "real country album" as you'll hear in 2015. It's refreshing to hear such unfiltered honky-tonk music in this day and age of contrived edge and softened edges. Morgan and the 78s' version of modern outlaw country is a comparable sound to what Sturgill Simpson is doing, but with a blue collar approach and a more pronounced low-end. This album may not drive Morgan to acceptance/hype in the same circles as Jason Isbell and Sturgill, but it's a big statement album that will bring in new fans and make old ones very happy. It's my favorite album of the year thus far, and obviously highly recommended. -Trailer ------- Sonic Ranch is available on Morgan's site, iTunes, Amazon, etc.
William Clark Green has hit a proverbial home run with his latest effort, Ringling Road. Forgive the Baseball analogy, but it is April. At the time I am writing this, my beloved Cubs are sitting atop the NL Central Division, so you know where my head is at! As for WCG, this is really nothing new to those of us who have followed the Lubbock, Texas based artist from jump street.
Though, this album seems a bit more polished and fine-tuned production wise than his previous work (that isn't a bad thing!), it never draws you away from his skillfully crafted lyrics, and soulful voice. Ringling Road marks the second collaborative effort between Green and producer Rachel Loy.
WCG has a knack for storytelling and pulling you into a song. As most brilliant artists do, he creates vivid mental imagery, with lines like "the interstate's pumping like a vein, full of California plates." You can't help but picture that, and then listen for the next great line!
With every record, Green matures a little more, digs a little deeper, and evolves. He rolls along like a well oiled machine, recycling and repurposing bits and pieces of whatever pops up to sting him along the way, and uses them as inspiration.....mastering his craft one step at a time. I wasn't surprised at all with Ringling Road. More great songs, great melodies, and sonically pleasing rhythms.
Jamie Berryhill is a Texan, singer, songwriter, guitarist, and booking agent for 7th Planet Entertainment Group. He's only doing this gig for free wi-fi.
Hold My Beer, Vol. 1, the new album from Randy Rogers and Wade Bowen, sounds as much like a celebration of friendship as it does a duets album from the pair of popular Texas troubadours. There's a palpable sense of fun and camaraderie throughout the ten song collection. It’s the soundtrack to a good Saturday afternoon barbecue, a party record for people who'd rather not fist-pump, a greatest hits collection of songs you haven’t heard yet (unless you've been to their summer tours of the same name as the album).
That’s not to say the songs don’t hold together as a consistent album - the song order is organic, the songs clearly come from a collective creative vision, and there’s a common production quality - but it truly sounds like a “Best of” set that just happens to be a regular album. While I don’t want every album to be quite so packed with “event” songs, it’s a compliment for Hold My Beer. There’s no lag; all killer no filler, as they say.
There are songs which stand out from the rest, however. “Good Luck With That” is a humorous and self-deprecating tune that sounds like cross between a Texas-music scene staple and one of those short ditties George Strait used to include on every album. It’s a good time.
“Standards” is a friendly kiss-off to the Nashville way of doing things. Wade shrugs off a “bro” song pitched to him with a simple “it’s not me,” before launching into the more biting chorus “I don’t have hits, I’ve got standards,” using the double-meaning of ‘standards’ to perfection. “It’s gotta feel right” replies Randy, maintaining that polite balance.
“El Dorado” is a cowboy epic, a solemn and thoughtful goodbye from an old desperado. While neither Randy nor Wade has the sort of voice you’d describe as wide-ranging, their voices entangle so perfectly as to soar across the western vistas of the song during the instantly memorable chorus. It’s an extremely moving song, and one of my favorite of the year thus far.
The record closes with a cover of Willie & Merle’s “Reasons to Quit” (fittingly, from that legendary pair of friends’ duet album Pancho and Lefty). It’s a sobering way to end the album, but Wade and Randy’s vocals play off one another with a warmth and understanding that imbues the tune with unexpected liveliness.
Hold My Beer, Vol. 1 is more than a summary of Randy and Wade’s annual tour. It’s a strong and artful set of songs that never drags in the slow moments, and never embarrasses you during the more party-friendly moments. Fire up the grill, throw a koozie on a Shiner Bock, and turn this up. -Trailer
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Hold My Beer, Vol. 1 is available today at iTunes, Amazon, Lonestar Music and all the usual locations.
“Honey, don’t you be yellin’ at me when
I’m cleanin’ my gun,
I’ll wash the blood off the tailgate
when deer season’s done.
We got one more weekend to go,
And I’d like to kill one more doe.”
[Note: It’s come to the author’s attention that a goodly number of FTM readers are consumers of mainstream “country” music. The couplets above are the opening lines of James McMurtry’s Complicated Game. On paper, it’s as “bro-country” as you can get, right? But he ain’t pretty, and he don’t shake his ass. Here’s your chance to learn something.]
James McMurtry hasn’t made a studio album in six years. And a quarter-century after Lonesome Dove author Larry’s son hung out his Texas songwriter’s shingle with Too Long in the Wasteland, he may have come full-circle. There are some constants, at least.
Wry humor. Desperation. Anger, sometimes the fist-shaking, political kind. Characters on the margins, and love just out of reach. These are what McMurtry fans have come to expect. But it’s always poignant. Funny or sad, you’re getting touched in the stomach. The new one turns it up a notch, and sets a new standard.
Complicated Game, on a label that bears the same name, is a stripped-down departure from Childish Things and a slew of records on the Sugar Hill label. McMurtry came into his own in the 2000s, combining sharp – and often overtly political – lyrics with top-flight rock musicianship and arrangements.
This time, there’s arrangement-muscle in only a couple of cuts. “Deaver’s Crossing” and “How’m I Gonna Find You Now” (the latter a happy little speed-freak/stalker tune) are the only songs where discerning McMurtry fans will recognize the layering he’s subtly made his recent trademark. “How’m I Gonna Find You” is reminiscent of his frenetic, borderline hip-hop rants “Choctaw Bingo” and “Airline Agent;” just a little more desperate and a tad more funny.
But it’s the longing that sets this album apart. Longing for a different, better time, or a just-missed love. The comfortable love that peppers a couple songs is still looking for a little something better, whether it’s one more doe or a way to cash out before the Wal-Mart’s built.
Oh, there’s wisdom and reflection in every cut. The kind that makes you nod, smile and say, “Fuck. Of course. This.” There’s a trio of love songs that tie the thing together, though.
“Copper Canteen” opens the record, and we’re left with a good sense of middle-aged contentment. As borderline-rough as things might be, they’ll still be okay. And hell yes, I’ll wash the blood off the tailgate. (I imagine I’d have said that more than once, had I ever been married. ‘Nuff said.)
“These Things I’ve Come to Know” is the most romantic cut on the record, and with the most common touch. Who among us doesn’t know a hot-mess bartender who somehow keeps it together? And who among us hasn’t had that crush from a familiar barstool. You just…know. (Author’s speculation: She’s the same gal who said “Sit your drunk ass down" in another song.)
Any displaced Southerners among us who envisioned different lives for ourselves, long before we became middle aged? “Long Island Sound” will induce tears for a while. And it’ll be a while before you realize why…if you listen.
Which brings us back to you, Mainstream Country Fan. Do you have the stones to be emotionally challenged? Can you shake off the visual template of Nashville, long enough to listen in a discerning way?
This is McMurtry’s best record, and it ain’t close. And that was a high bar. He could put his pen and guitar down now, and his name will forever belong beside those of Lovett, Clark, Earle, and yes, Van Zandt. If you know those names, you know what the comparison implies.
If you don’t, listen to Complicated Game, and get a frame of reference. This one’s a crowning moment for one of the true and elite Texas craftsmen.
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Complicated Game is available at iTunes, Amazon, Lone Star Music, and all the usual spots (but probably not Wal-mart).
Fireworks stand - you can light a bottle rocket in my hand. There's a fine line between disaster and the best-laid plans. -"Whistlers and Sparklers"
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Wrinkle Neck Mules are a sixteen-year-old dual-lead-singer Americana band with a heavy dose of Appalachian twang and an extra helping of cryptic absurdity. That's not to say they're a novelty act - the absurdity is found in their uniquely specific descriptions of the seedier sides of rural life, bound together by an abstract painter's sense of aesthetics.
You listen to a Mules song and first think "this sounds great!" Then you get a vague idea of what the song is about, despite the accents being so heavy that it's hard to entirely tell what's going on. Next, you read the actual lyrics, scratch your head, and find yourself back at "this sounds great!"
That's certainly the case on I Never Thought It Would Go This Far, the band's sixth full album. Take opener "Whistlers and Sparklers," for instance. On casual listen, it's a grimy country-rock jam about traveling fireworks salesmen. Or is it? The narrative throws in "I think we tapped the wellspring" and "bits of code" and suddenly the song isn't so easily understood. Maybe it's about overcoming difficulty; maybe it's about songwriting - as the second verse seems to allude to. Maybe it's all of that. All I know is it's a killer tune whose final verse is an inventory list of different types of fireworks. What's not to love?
I was convinced "Beehive," my favorite track on the album, was about a drug selling collective, but truth be known, I don't know what the hell they're talking about. It's a swaying anthem, all drawled harmonies, smoke, and a children's kick drum thrown in for good measure. I find myself seeing the parallels between drug dealers and a touring band in the arcane arrangement of words.
Other standouts include "Release the Reins," "Days Don't End," and "The Line's Been Drawn." If you're looking for simply told tales and clearly drawn lines, Wrinkle Neck Mules aren't going to give it to you. This is Faulkner retold by an eloquent meth head, Gothic sermons repeated by a hopeful drunk. No thread of plot or intent will be easily teased from this fabric and that's what will keep the listener returning, alongside the kickass hillbilly rocking of course.
Maybe this fine album isn't to be analyzed at all. Find your own meaning in these literate, attitude-driven, poetic, anti-bucolic, abstruse (and surprisingly fun) lyrics and run with it. It's not like you're going to stop tapping your foot, either way. It's all too damn catchy; and so steeped in shine and cooked over some ridge dweller's firepit, I Never Thought It Would Go This Far can't help but captivate.
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I Never Thought It Would Go This Far is available here, iTunes, Amazon, etc.
Benton Leachman has a reedy croon that gives off the impression of innocence or sweetness. While that may indeed be the case for Leachman personally, his debut album, Bury the Hatchet, presents several bits of evidence that are at odds with that starry-eyed delivery. He's clearly a complicated and real person, and this record shows you all his sides with a passionate honesty that's rare in first releases.
Opener "Desire" is a bouncy country-rocker about modern dating - straddling that fine line between giving too much away while sharing just enough to keep a love interest …well, interested. "So maybe I’ll just get my feet wet first/Before I hold’em to the fire" sings Leachman late in the song, displaying a wariness that's both an armor and a sword.
The third track, "Pride," is a standout in the bunch, as catchy as it is insightful. It's a hopeful tune about trying to drop the selfish ways that make a relationship more about two hard-headed people than one committed couple. The very next song, and the title track, could well be what happens when that couple foregoes reconciliation and becomes irreparably frayed. "I'll bury this damn hatchet in your heart" is the first sign that Benton's lilting voice belies a sharp tongue, but further proof that he's not biting that tongue.
"Lonely" is my favorite song on Bury the Hatchet, highlighting Leachman's proclivity for a well turned melody and a layered story. The steel guitar gets a workout on this barroom lament that proves its protagonist an unreliable narrator who claims to be resolved in his brokenness but clearly is still fighting.
The biting wit reappears on "Cross to Bear" with the amazing opening lines:
"I think I hate you
And I want him dead
But I think I’ll take all this hurt
And I’ll just rhyme these words instead." Hot damn, that's some lyrical shade.
Closer "The Zombie Song" is either an Americana take on Michael Jackson's "Thriller," an acid trip, or a pondering of mortality. Whichever way you read it, it's a good tune and kind of a strange-ass way to end the album. Sonically, it fits the collection just fine, and based on some of the earlier lyrics, it's not entirely surprising… but still, an interesting way to draw the curtain.
Benton Leachman immediately proves himself a voice to be paid attention to on Bury the Hatchet. His vocal style certainly draws comparisons to Sean McConnell and Mando Saenz, but his unique inflections and hold-nothing-back songwriting brand him a singular and special artist. Bury the Hatchet is a heavy dose of medicine delivered with that spoonful of sweetness.
Bury the Hatchet is available as a digital download or a physical delivery at Leachman's Bandcamp page and also on iTunes.
American Aquarium is a band that's been building tremendous buzz off the strength of their relentless touring and their album Burn, Flicker, Die for the past couple of years. We've all heard the story ad infinitum about how that album was supposed to be their goodbye. It was the end. Its success seemed like the beginning of a fairy tale ending, a Behind The Music episode in reverse.
So let's skip that part of the story & talk about the new album, Wolves.
I never do track by track reviews, but this deserves one. Problem is then I'd have to pick a favorite & I can't do it. I doubt I ever will.
This is as perfect of a country-fried, southern rock album as I can imagine hearing in the present time.
To say the musical arrangements are daring & a departure from past albums is true. Yes, the same basic structure is there, the skeleton is intact enough to keep the loyal fans sated. But BJ Barham & the boys take risks here. The lush "Man I'm Supposed To Be" could be something Chet Atkins produced, but the darkness that lurks in this most honest of love songs somehow makes the song even more powerful.
The opener, "Family Problems," strays into psychedelic, Turtles-esque territory in places & again the song is more powerful for it.
"Losing Side of Twenty-five" contains a riff that will lodge itself into your brain and likely be stuck there for the remainder of 2015. It doesn't hurt that the song is damn good too, giving an autobiographical account of the life of a late-20's guy who chose the road life over settling down. "I might never have a mansion, hell I might never own me a home…" sings Barham, laying bare the realities of the path he's chosen.
I never would call American Aquarium a straight ahead country band in the vein of those modern bands who are simply aping tradition. They have become one of the bands who've taken country music in the direction it needs to go & that's why I think that this album & this year are the most important of their careers. Based on what I know about their history, the incredible growth from strong album to utterly breathtaking album, and the tides seeming to be slowly turning in Nashville, I believe that this is one of the bands that is going to be the crest on the wave that rejuvenates true country music - with a truly modern touch - for the masses.
If you want to see them with the other band I've given similar accolades (a bit over a year ago I believe), catch one of their dates with Turnpike Troubadours. Truly the two best younger bands in any genre right now.
American Aquarium has been extremely generous in their willingness to make their music available to stream for free for years now. Now is the time to pay them back. Wolves is an album to buy. Seriously, it's as good as anything I've heard in 6 months at least. Probably much longer.
If you've agreed with my recommendations in the past, you know what to do. If not, I may have been out of sync with your tastes before, but this album is different enough from their past work that you should give it a try anyway.
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You can buy Wolves tomorrow (Feb. 3, 2015) from iTunes, Lone Star Music, and all the usual retailers.
Adam Faucett's Blind Water Finds Blind Water (his 4th(??!) album) begins with a keening "I've seen all I need to see." You'll won't doubt him, despite his scant 32 years on earth, after listening to the entirety of this powerful and emotionally raw album.
Faucett's general aesthetic is somewhere in the realm of Jeff Buckley... even Tim Buckley, meets Otis Redding singing folk songs, meets John Moreland. Moreland, mostly for the confessional lyrical content - the others more for the actual sounds you'll hear streaming into your ears. It's rootsy, soul-flavored folk music, heavy on the soul. I'd be remiss not to gesticulate about Adam's voice too. It's otherworldly; a pure and primal howl from an Appalachian hilltop, informed with dark knowledge you'd rather not be privy to. There's a dirge-like quality to most of these songs and Adam's talents seem to fittingly hail from the other side of life's journey.
Also,
his beard is far sweeter than any of those growing from the faces of
poseurs who've glommed onto the craze, and it has been a part of his
look for years now. Anyway, "Melanie," the album's second track, is actually a bit more rocking than prior descriptions may have led you to believe. It's an attitudinal spiderweb of a song that basically tells off a former lover. It's also murkier than that.. offering up the likelihood that his distancing is as much to avoid the hooks of an unhealthy relationship as it is to stay out of the crosshairs of her ex.
"Edgar Cayce" references the early 1900's mystic who likely influenced the Ouija-esque cover art. It explores out-of-body experiences and, if soundtracked by steel guitar and a heavier twang, wouldn't be out of place in Sturgill Simpson's recent metamodern explorations.
The stunning "Opossum" is one of my favorite songs of the year. "Don't you ask me what you don't wanna know" it warns in the opening line. It's a dark, melodic look back at how better past days contrast with the struggles of the now in the lives of former lovers. Or at least that's what I think it's about; this one's a little hard to decipher, but it sounds damn great. Blind Water Finds Blind Water is a deep and beautiful record, as easy to enjoy on first listen as it is difficult to fully grasp on the 30th. Faucett's voice would be the clear calling card if the writing weren't so damn good as well. It's an album that sticks with you long after the final notes have faded. Highly recommended. --------- Blind Water Finds Blind Water is available on Spotify, iTunes, Amazon and wherever else good music is sold, rented, or leased.
The new Stoney LaRue album, Aviators, is out & critical reaction has been
a mixed bag, from what I've seen. To all those who've not been favorable to
the album I'd like to say: give it another listen after you read this.
I've always liked Stoney, but he was never a huge favorite. This album changes that for me.
This
is a concept album, make no mistake. Plenty of artists have made
"divorce" albums before. Some have been good, a few have even been
great. This one is the most brutally honest thing I've heard in years.
Basically, Stoney lays out the blueprint, the big picture as it were. From there we hear Stoney document every
stage of his grief, try to put himself in his spouses shoes &
say goodbye to the future he thought existed, all in the poetic lyrical
style, laid back vocals & beautifully layered instrumentation we
came to expect starting with Velvet. (Hats off to collaborator Mando Saenz.)
This
album needs to be listened to in full, as intended. "Still Running" is a
good starting place if you must buy a single, but listen to it as an
album. Please.
I also highly recommend the album, as does SCM's Triggerman. I personally haven't read any negative reviews, but I've seen several 'disappointed' comments from fans. It's a pretty melancholy album, but it's not boring... the melodies are subtle... the kind of subtlety that becomes unexpectedly powerful after a few listens. It's an emotional and mature record that peels back the artist and shows the real man. Give it a shot! -Trailer
In my mind, The Phillip Fox Band is already somewhat established,
which makes it a little weird that "Heartland" is their first full
length album. At least they came out swinging for the fences in what
they refer to as "Country-Fried Rock'n'Roll" just as I hoped they would
with a great mix of varying songs that were uniquely assembled with help
from fans that were given the opportunity to vote for the songs the
band had written to prepare for this release. The first few seconds of
the album sets the tone for the listener with the banjo intro of "You
Are The Girl" which quickly transforms into an upbeat love song that
features Phillip's signature raspy vocals backed by a killer drum beat
and a good mix of banjo and electric guitar.
The beat and energy remain high through the next few songs and even
offer some good sing along moments before toning it down for "Lovin
You". This is where I feel the band truly shines as they slow it down
and bring in unexpected amounts of vocal range to compliment great
instrumentation, all while appealing to the listener with smart, relatable
lyrics. Unless you've never been in love or worked for a jackass, then
it's relatable.
"Ava Lee" comes in next and it's a very good song but my inner twelve
year old keeps singing "Anally" so maybe I'll just move on...
The next four tracks "Nothin Worse Than Weak," "Heartland," "We All Lose
Somethin" and "I'd Be Runnin Too" provide as wide of a range of
"Country-Fried Rock" as you'll ever find in any artists' complete
library all packed into consecutive songs. While all four definitely are
more on the rock side of things, they are all over the spectrum of the
genre and stand out yet somehow blend the album together all at the same
time.
Obviously cancer sucks. Obviously most songs that hit on the subject
aren't exactly upbeat and life inspiring given the topic at hand.
Fortunately, especially considering Phillip recalls his wife's own
battle,"Cancer Cannot" is actually an inspiring, upbeat and uplifting
track about what cancer can't do and the perseverance of the human
spirit and body. Having personally experienced family members having
every possible outcome of the disease, I truly appreciate this one for
what it is.
How does eight and a half minutes of badassery sound? Buy the album,
take a listen, and after you've heard 11 tracks that are tied together
by their differences as much as they are by their similarities you'll
find out when the 11 becomes a 12. "I Ain't Angry" brings the highs, the
lows, the fast and the slow all together in one final, kickass
masterpiece that rounds out the package the way you'd hope it would.
Kinda like Luke Bryan falling off the stage but here's the kicker...
he's not getting back on. Yep, it ends that awesomely.
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RIYL: Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Reckless Kelly.
