Mason Jennings goes electric and dark

As a singer-songwriter with an acoustic guitar and wordy songs of social and political observation, Mason Jennings could nominally be called a folkie. But much of his inspiration came from mid-80s punk rock and his work with drums and bass (sometimes his own, sometimes additional players) has been infused with rock ‘n’ roll energy. His eponymous debut, with Jennings overdubbing guitar, bass and drums into a loose, homebrewed production, ranged from folk songs with narrow melodies (think Lou Reed, Jonathan Richman and Ben Vaughn) to thrashing acoustic punk rock. Jennings’ early songs were terrifically conversational, sung variously to a third party or directly at the listener, and his lyrics were personal and often philosophical.

Hooking up with a bassist and drummer, his music gained some bottom end and tightened up, but retained the unfinished edges of his initial homemade productions. More importantly, his lyrical view turned outward to political and social observation, and his musical styles expanded to include the reggae rhythm of “United States Global Empire,” middle-eastern melodies, and jazz sax riffs. Over the next couple of albums he returned to his earlier ragged style of guitar, bass and drums on Use Your Voice, a thicker, more highly produced sound on his major label debut Boneclouds, and again to simpler sounds for In the Ever, his first album for Jack Johnson’s Brushfire label.

Throughout all the musical transitions, Jennings calling card has been his lyrics, and even as he plugs in his guitar for this latest release, the focus remains on words. He plays his electric with the same sort of propulsive chord strums as his acoustic, and the simple leads often match the narrow melodies of his vocals. What’s changed is the lyrical tone, which is substantially darker than on his earlier releases. Jennings writes of isolation, loss, loneliness and despair, unmet expectations, murderous retribution, war and death. You might wonder if Jennings’ dog died on the way to the studio. The album’s one moment of unobstructed lightness is the idyllic childhood memories of “Sunlight,” which sounds like one of Pink Floyd’s Meddle-era pastoral numbers.

There are a few musical adventures, including the opening “City of Ghosts,” which fits nicely into the post-punk vein of Television and the Neats. The heavy bass and distorted vocal of “Ain’t No Friend of Mind” suggests the blues of numerous two-man-bands descended from the White Stripes, and the closing “Blood of Man” runs the album’s gamut from rumbling low-strummed electric to sharply picked acoustic to a rocking climax. Eight albums into a decade-long career, these are fruitful new musical and lyrical directions for Jennings. The undercurrent of his folk style remains, as it has on all his records, but there are storm clouds directly overhead and the rain will both cleanse you and leave your skin raw. [©2009 hyperbolium dot com]

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