A virtuoso cover of Badfinger’s “Baby Blue,” played on the ukulele.
Jim Boggia: Baby Blue
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Tag Archives: Rock
Going Underground
Illuminting Paul McCartney’s avant-garde credentials
John Lennon may have ended up with the larger avant-garde cred, but this fascinating 153-minute documentary suggests it was Paul McCartney who first dug into the underground. Combining period footage (including clips of the Beatles, Allen Ginsburg, Jack Kerouac, Pink Floyd and Soft Machine) and contemporary interviews with a number of ’60s scene-makers, the film demonstrates McCartney’s early interest and sponsorship of counterculture art and social activities, and the role he served in bridging the avant-garde into the mainstream. Beatles fans will recognize key moments in the group’s career, but may not know the roots of the invention and synthesis that brought “Tomorrow Never Knows” and other icons to fruition. Even lesser known is the role McCartney played in supporting key counterculture activities, such as Indica Books and Gallery, the Long Hair Times (and its successor the International Times), and the legendary Million Volt Light and Sound Rave.
The story begins with the late-50s emergence of youth culture in the UK, including the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament, the expressive freedom and bohemian romance of the Beats, the cutting edge jazz of the 1960s, and the growing influence of art school on music. The program gets to the Beatles at the thirty-minute mark, when John Lennon and George Harrison dip their toe in the underground at a birthday party for Allen Ginsburg. Lennon was then living in the suburbs with his first wife and child, and didn’t find an immediate resonance with the underground. McCartney, on the other hand, was a bachelor, living in London and being introduced to the works of John Cage by the family of Jane Asher, to Karlheinz Stockhausen and the BBC Radiophonic Workshop by George Martin, and to avant-garde books and art through his association with Indica.
McCartney’s intellectual pursuits, and his experiments in a home studio (something that would continue into his post-Beatles solo career) were absorbed by the Beatles, but reiterated to the market in pop song format. The reframing of avant-garde ideas, coupled with the Beatles unprecedented renown, made it seem as if these concepts were drawn from thin air. But as this film documents, there are many antecedents from which McCartney and the Beatles drew, brilliantly recontextualized and then released into the commercial mainstream. This might seem opportunistic, had the Beatles not completed the loop by feeding back into the underground. By the end of 1966 the Beatles had abandoned touring, Lennon had met Yoko Ono (at a private showing of her work at Indica), and McCartney provided the impetus for both TNK and the “Carnival of Light” sound collage.
The Beatles continued to slip avant-garde elements into their music, but 1967 turned out to be a year of changes. McCartney’s media appearances gave a more explicit view of his involvement with the underground, but by year’s end, with the death of Brian Epstein, he’d given himself over to running the group’s business. Lennon, on the other hand, had become much more deeply enmeshed with the avant-garde, and expanded its role on Beatles records with Revolution 9. Post-Beatles, Lennon strengthened his ties to political elements of the underground, but the avant-garde influences faded from his solo music. McCartney doubled-down on the mainstream with Wings, but continued to experiment in his solo outings.
McCartney’s role as a bridge between the underground and the commercial mainstream provides the central thesis, but the film’s subtitle is a bit misleading, as McCartney himself does not occupy the majority of the program’s screen time (there are, for example, major segments on Pink Floyd and Soft Machine). The bulk of the continuity is provided by a mix of the era’s scene makers and contemporary musicologists, providing background information that is essential to understanding the avant-garde milieu in which the Beatles developed. No doubt many Beatles fans have already absorbed some or all of this material, but to those who only know the group through their records and publicity, the context for their musical experimentation will be eye opening. [©2013 Hyperbolium]
Tommy Keene: Excitement at Your Feet
A pop cognoscente’s selection of covers
Cover albums invariably say more about the coverer than the coverees. Selecting and sequencing an album of someone else’s songs (that is, making a mix tape) is as an artistic act, but one that’s magnified by the creation of new recordings. Musically, this album doesn’t stray far from Keene’s traditional guitar-heavy pop sound, and so it says more in its range of artists and deep track selections than in its actual performances. The singers and bands Keene covers aren’t necessarily surprising, ranging from early Who, Rolling Stones and Donovan selections, through Big Star, Mink DeVille, Roxy Music and on to Echo and the Bunnymen and Guided By Voices. But the specific songs, drawn from singles, album sides and live recordings, are those of a connoisseur who can find sparkling gems among fields of even more brightly shining diamonds.
Reaching back to the Who’s long-playing debut My Generation, Keene picked Townshend’s brush-off, “Much Too Much,” tough, but not nearly as brutal as the Rolling Stones’ “Ride on Baby.” The latter was recorded in 1965, but held until the 1967 compilation Flowers, where it was buried at the end of side two, following a half-dozen Stones icons. It takes a dedicated fan to hear past the hits to the buried treasure, or in the case of the Bee Gees’ mostly hit-free Odessa to find the moody ballad “I Laugh in Your Face” leading off side four. The 1970s picks are similarly eclectic: “Have You Seen My Baby,” from the Flamin’ Groovies’ Teenage Head, Mink DeVille’s “Let Me Dream If I Want To” from the influential Live at CBGB’s, the understated “Guiding Light” from Television’s masterpiece Marquee Moon, “Out of the Blue” from Roxy Music’s pre-hiatus live album Viva! and “Nighttime” from Big Star’s 3rd.
Moving into the ’80s, Keene covers Echo and the Bunnymen’s non-charting third single, “The Puppet,” and finishes in the ’90s with Guided By Voices’ “Choking Tara.” Though each of the performances adds Keene’s trademark power-pop punch to the originals, the demo quality of the GBV original gets the biggest transformation here, with a fully fleshed-out arrangement of guitars, bass and drums. As noted, the individual  performances aren’t necessarily  revelatory, but they’re not meant to be; this is the Keene-variations, and it’s the collection as a whole that provides the thesis. What makes this work (as well as a lot of fun) are Keene’s finely-honed tastes and the power of his own sound to bring these songs under one umbrella. [©2013 Hyperbolium] 
The Paley Brothers: The Complete Collection
A revised retelling of should-have-been power pop stars
The Paley Brothers – Andy and Jonathan – had the experience, original material and connections to make a much bigger splash than managed in the mid-to-late-70s. Having threaded individually through the Boston rock and New York punk/new wave scenes, their work as a duo charmed power-pop aficionados, but had little commercial impact. Their records with Seymour Stein, Jimmy Iovine, Earle Mankey, Phil Spector and the Ramones failed to ignite widespread notice, and their primary catalog – a four song EP and an album on Sire – has been unevenly reissued since its 1978 release. Surprisingly, this first-ever twenty-six track anthology, curated by the brothers themselves, tells a slightly different story than the original releases; but its alternate takes and mixes may offer some clues to the original lack of commercial rewards.
The collection’s lack of fidelity to the brothers’ original releases is both a blessing and a curse. The eleven previously unreleased tracks offered here, including two from a live date with Shaun Cassidy at Madison Square Garden, flesh out a fuller picture of the Paleys’ time as recording artists, and the alternate takes and mixes provide an aural view that went unheard at the time. But the alternates don’t always best the originals, and the lack of clear attribution creates a shadow of revisionism. The Paley’s may prefer these versions, and there is great merit in letting them out of the vaults, but replacing dear artifacts without so much as a note (the credits source the EP and album without any indication that some tracks are different recordings, and most are different mixes) is a disservice to those seeking clean digital copies of the originals, as well as to those who’d be enticed by the alternates.
With the album having been reissued in 2009, what’s still missing from the digital domain are the previously released versions of the duo’s 1978 Ecstasy EP. What’s here are mono mixes of “Ecstasy,” “Rendezvous,” “Hide ‘n’ Seek” and “Come Out and Play” that, while often more crisp than the vinyl release, are not always better. The alternate take of “Rendezvous,” in particular, hasn’t the Spector-inspired grandeur of the previously released version, and “Come Out and Play” is offered here at the edited length that appeared on the album. To be sure, the alternates are a gift to the Paleys’ fans, but offering them in lieu of the originals renders this “complete” collection incomplete, and leaves fans to find and transcribe original vinyl.
That said, the newly released material here is terrific. Opening the set are two previously unreleased originals from 1979, the bouncy Beach Boys-styled “Here She Comes” and the love-poor (but vocal-rich) “Meet the Invisible Man.” The latter, produced by Andy Paley, features a driving guitar line, brilliant harmonies and a coda that brings to mind the Beatles’ Revolver. Also from 1979 is “Boomerang,” with Brian Wilson adding his vocal to the background, the rock rave-ups “She’s Eighteen Tonight” and “Spring Fever,” the rare Paley Brothers ballad, “Sapphire Eyes,” the blink-and-you-missed it surf-styled “Jacques Cousteau” (though not the single’s B-side “Sink or Swim“), Â and a faithfully sweet cover of the theme song to the supermarionation show, Fireball XL5.
In 1978 the Paleys had opened for Shaun Cassidy (who, in addition to fine bubblegum, waxed Wasp with Todd Rundgren), and two covers from their August stop at Madison Square Garden show how easily the brothers added Everlys-styled harmonies to Bobby & His Orbits’ Zydeco-tinged 1958 rocker “Felicia” and Tommy Roe’s 1966 smash “Sheila.” The remaining rarities are a cover of Richie Valens’ “Come on Let’s Go” and the Phil Spector-produced “Baby, Let’s Stick Together.” The former was recorded in 1977 with the Ramones while Joey Ramone was laid up in the hospital, and may be the Paley’s most broadly known single, as it was included on the soundtrack to Rock ‘n’ Roll High School. The latter was waxed at the temple of the Wall of Sound, Gold Star, with the Wrecking Crew kicking up the beat from Spector’s previous production of this title with Dion.
The Paley’s have stated that this is not an album reissue, which is fine, but without proper annotation, the changes elide rather than augment. Sorting out what’s actually here (and more importantly, what’s not) is basically impossible. To their credit, the mostly mono mixes of the album tracks improve upon the dated, booming production and vocal processing of the original album vinyl. The 16-page booklet includes liner notes by Gene Sculatti, terrific memories from Sire Records chief, Seymour Stein, and rare photographs that provide visual context for the Paleys’ place in the musical milieu of the 1970s. This is a must-have for Paleys fans, and a good, if not historically complete introduction for those who missed them the first time around. [©2013 Hyperbolium]
Brian Wright: Rattle Their Chains
Country, folk and more from Nashville-transplanted Texan
Waco ex-pat (and recent Nashville immigrant by way of Los Angeles) Brian Wright garnered many positive reviews for his 2011 Sugar Hill debut, House on Fire. His second album for the label (his fourth overall) not only avoids a sophomore slump, but shows tremendous growth in his music, performing and style. Wright is more of a writer than an entertainer (though he is indeed quite entertaining), with music that strives for more than meter-fitting rhymes and a pleasant way to pass three minutes. His latest opens with a soulful electric piano that brings to mind Ray Charles, a jaunty drum beat and a declaration – “never made a promise that I thought could not be broken” – whose wry tone is in league with Randy Newman. It’s a compelling combination, with Wright’s Dylanesque catalog of never-haves stoked by hard-shuffling drums and a driving bass line. The effect is both cool and hot, like a smoldering attitude amid flammable emotions.
His inventories continue with the demons enumerated in “Haunted,” cleverly turning the phrase “I’m trying to right my way out of all I’ve done wrong” and then transforming ‘right’ into ‘write’ by finishing the couplet with “trying to pay off my sins, and pay back my friends, song after song.” There’s another catalog in the experiences of “Weird Winter,” reading like a third-person cousin to the Beatles’ “I’ve Got a Feeling.” Wright’s new music spans folk and country, with flavors of pop, rock (highlighted by a heroic 70s-styled guitar solo on “We Don’t Live There”), blues, soul, gospel and brass-band jazz. Wright leads his backing band (itself a switch from the self-played arrangements of House on Fire) with aplomb, but the folk styles of “Red Rooster Social Club” and “Can’t Stand to Listen” leave extra room for the emotional edges of his voice. This is a finely-crafted step forward from his previous album, showing off both Wright’s ever-sharpening songwriting and growing reach as a performer. [©2013 Hyperbolium]
King Khan and the Shrines: Idle No More
Crafty blend of psych, garage-rock, pop and soul
Idle since 2007’s What Is?!, King Khan’s garage-soul band is back with an album that adds a bit of genre-blending finesse to their early raw power. The title doesn’t actually refer to the band’s hiatus, but instead to an indigenous sovereignty movement that struck a resonant chord with Khan. More largely, the reference signals the latent social criticism embedded beneath the album’s rock ‘n’ soul surface. The commentary is in the lyrics, but you’ll have to hear it through a tasty mix of Love-inspired psych, Flamin’ Groovies-styled rock, Memphis-flavored horns and West Coast sunshine-pop. Khan fits these together with a naturalness that belies their disparate origins, and his vocals are equally at home on soul ballads as they are on psych-tinged garage stompers. This isn’t as raw as the band’s earlier releases, nor is it as heavy on the funk or punk, but the seamless mix of psych, pop and garage is a fair trade for those willing to hear the band do something new. [©2013 Hyperbolium]
Barrence Whitfield and the Savages: Dig Thy Savage Soul
Hard R&B recalls tough frat rockers from the late ’50s and early ’60s
After a healthy run in the latter half of the 1980s, Barrence Whitfield and the original lineup of the Savages left the scene. Fast forward a decade and Whitfield and guitarist Peter Greenberg were back with a new lineup for 2011’s Savage Kings. Whitfield’s delivery is as wild as ever, with growls, howls and shouts, and the latest edition of the Savages rocks even harder than the original. This is equal parts soul and garage rock, lending it the feel of sweaty Northwest frat rockers fronted by a hard-soul vocalist who’s next gig you’d make a point of catching. Greenberg’s incessant rhythm chords and twanging riffs drive from the top, but the rhythm section never takes a breather and the sax and B3 squeeze themselves into whatever space is left (or, when there’s no room, they just push everyone else out of the way). Whitfield borrows Screamin’ Jay Hawkins’ incredulous histrionics for “I’m Sad About It,” but the album’s mix of covers and originals is never less than original. You can set your volume knob low, but this one will still play LOUD. [©2013 Hyperbolium]
Sly & The Family Stone: Higher!
Career-spanning box with mono singles, rarities and unreleased tracks
Sly and the Family Stone’s catalog has never been difficult to find. In addition to dozens of compilations (one of which, 1970’s Greatest Hits, was their first album to top the charts), the band’s original albums have been remastered and reissued with expanded track listings. The remastered albums have themselves also been anthologized as The Collection. But there’s more to Sylvester Stewart than the Family Stone and there’s more to the Family Stone’s catalog than the albums. Pulling together pre-Family obscurities, hit singles (many in their punchy mono single mixes), album cuts, live performances and previously unissued material creates an arc of musical discovery that paints a wholly (or holy) different picture than hearing the material in separate installments.
This box set opens with five sides Stewart (not yet Stone) recorded for San Francisco’s Autumn label in 1964 and 1965. Stewart served as a staff producer for Autumn, helming sessions for the Beau Brummels, Mojo Men, Great Society and others (see Precious Stone, Listen to the Voices, The Autumn Records Story and Dance With Me for more of his production work), and his first sides riff on the hit single, “C’mon and Swim,” he’d written and produced for Bobby Freeman. The B-side, “Scat Swim,” cut a deeper groove than the plug side, and his next single, “Buttermilk (Part 1),” was a catchy blue-soul instrumental, with Stewart playing all the instruments, including organ and harmonica leads. The unreleased “Dance All Night” and his last single for Autumn, “Temptation Walk,” show how early (and easily) Stewart began mixing pop, soul, blues, R&B and jazz into his original stew.
After leaving Autumn, Stewart quickly assembled what was to become Sly and the Family Stone, and waxed the 1967 demos that would land them a contract with Epic. In the wake of the group’s later success, two of the tracks, the original “I Ain’t Got Nobody (For Real)” and a cover of Otis Redding’s “I Can’t Turn You Lose,” were released on the Loadstone label. The former is powered by Larry Graham’s insistent bass line and topped by the Family Stone’s trademark trumpet-sax combination of Cynthia Robinson and Jerry Martini. The group began recording for Epic (at the same Golden State Recorders at which Stewart had produced for Autumn Records) in mid-1967, and the fruits of these initial sessions fill out disc one, starting with their first A-side, “Underdog,” and its two B-sides, “Higher” (from early promo singles) and “Bad Risk.”
Despite a fresh sound that crackled with the energy of its multiple roots, neither the single nor the album A Whole New Thing made a commercial impression at the time; it wasn’t until “Dance to the Music” was recorded in September that the Family Stone had their first hit in the can. Launched in January 1968, “Dance to the Music” quickly established the group’s revolutionary combination of pop, rock, soul, funk and gospel, and shifted the course of pop music. Other acts quickly latched onto elements of the sound, but none could match Stewart’s output as a songwriter or the band’s approach as a unit. The group was sufficiently prolific as to leave fully-finished masters in the vault, including the four that end disc one. Here you’ll find the band trying out previously unheard original songs, experimental vocal arrangements, and repurposed lyrics and melodies.
The July-August 1967 session tracks continue on disc two, showing the wealth of great material produced before the band finally hit with “Dance to the Music.” Two of session tracks (“What Would I Do” and “Only One Way Out of This Mess”) were previously issued on the expanded edition of A Whole New Thing, but three more are included here for the first time: an inventive cover of the pop-folk song “What’s it Got to Do With Me,” an early take on the autobiographical “Future and Fame” and the Freddie Stone-sung deep soul ballad “I Know What You Came to Say.” All five session tracks are as good as the material that made the original album, but the lack of early commercial success doomed this extra material to a long stay in the vault.
The band’s commercial breakthrough is finally heard six tracks into disc two, with the ecstatic three-minute mono single mix of “Dance to the Music.” The song is, quite literally, a brilliantly catchy tutorial on the sound being created before the listener’s very ears. As memorable as are the mono singles, stereo album sides like “Ride the Rhythm” more expansively show off the band’s inventive arrangements and tight musicianship as they explode across the soundstage. Disc two finishes out with album tracks from Dance to the Music, the previously unreleased “We Love All,” the obscure mostly-instrumental French-language single “Danse a la Musique” (and it’s even stranger Chipmunk-voiced B-side, “Small Fries”), the unreleased B-side “Chicken,” and exuberant sides from Life, including mono single masters for “Life” (with a different lead vocal track than the album cut) and “M’Lady.”
Disc three opens with the band’s second smash single, the #1 “Everyday People” and its charting flipside, “Sing a Simple Song.” These tracks, along with “Stand!” (offered here in a live recording) and “I Want to Take You Higher,” powered the commercial success of the band’s third album. As with their debut, the band recorded a lot more material during the album sessions than they could issue, and disc three includes another helping of previously unreleased bonuses, including unused instrumental backings. The group became a hot live act, essayed here with performances from the 1970 Isle of Wight Festival, and scored in 1969 as singles artists with “Hot Fun in the Summertime,” “Everybody is a Star” and “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin),” all heard here as mono singles.
The final disc open with the band’s next album, There’s a Riot Goin’ On, including album tracks and all three of its singles. Ironically, though the album yielded the hit “Family Affair,” it was recorded in large part by Stone alone, with overdubs by Family members and other hired-hands (including keyboard player Billy Preston). The album hasn’t the organic sound or joyous mood of the band’s earlier material, and the sonics of 1971 overdubbing and the use of a drum machine on several tracks subdues the group’s underlying funk. By 1973 the group’s membership was beginning to change, including new drummers, a replacement for the departed Larry Graham, and the addition of a third horn player. The group’s singles (including “If You Want Me to Stay” and “Time for Livin'”) continued to chart in the Top 40, as did their final two albums Fresh and Small Talk.
By 1975 Sly had disbanded the Family Stone and begun to record as a solo artist backed by hired musicians. His album High on You, expands beyond the musical boundaries of the Family Stone, adding steel guitar and other touches that hadn’t been heard on the band’s releases. Disc four closes out with selections from Stone’s solo work, from the then-newly formulated Family Stone’s Heard Ya Missed Me, Well I’m Back, and a pair of previously unreleased tracks, “Hoboken” and “High.” The box set lingers a bit more over the first-half of the group’s career, rushing through the latter half in a single disc, but that’s in balance with the band’s rise to fame, the peaking of their invention, and the view most listeners will have of their career.
This is a well thought out anthology, touching on Stewart’s pre-Family solo work, the Family’s rise to fame, their chart domination and fire as a live act, their eventual end and Sly Stone’s return to solo work. Along the way there are iconic hit singles, B-sides and album tracks, seventeen previously unreleased tracks and a large helping of original mono single mixes. The only real omission from this set are the studio versions of “Stand” and “I Want to Take You Higher!,” each of which are included among the live tracks. The mono mixes will be greatly appreciated by fans who have already completed their collection of the expanded stereo album reissues. For those without any of the group’s catalog on-hand, your surround sound-trained ears may find the stereo hits more immediately satisfying; check out the album reissues, or the anthologies Greatest Hits or Essential.
In addition to the mono mixes and unreleased tracks, the set’s 104-page book is its own star. The book includes finely written liner notes, an informative timeline, rare photographs, reproductions of labels, sleeves and posters, and revelatory track-by-track comments from the Greg Errico, Larry Graham, Jerry Martini, Cynthia Robinson, Sly Stone and many others. In addition to the standard 4-CD set, there are several variations: an Amazon exclusive that adds a fifth disc (and parallel MP3 downloads), a vinyl LP edition (with its own Amazon exclusive variation) and a single disc highlights. [©2013 Hyperbolium]
George Thorogood: The First Two Albums
1977 debut beats the blues
George Thorogood unleashed his Delaware-born and Boston-bred blues just in time to catch a transition in FM radio. Pressured by the growth of AOR stations, and striving to maintain currency with younger audiences, freeform stations were both tightening their playlists and stretching beyond their heritage artists. Thorogood’s tradition-laden blues (eight of this debut album’s ten cuts are covers) was an easy bridge from alternative FM’s roots, and the ferocity with which he and his band (not accidentally christened “The Destroyers”) played was fresh, powerful and a surprisingly good fit with the punk rock and new wave that were just starting to pick up commercial notice. The eight-minute “One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer” quickly became a bathroom-break staple on both commercial and college stations, and covers of Earl Hooker, Elmore James, Robert Johnson and Bo Diddley sent DJs to the stacks for some history lessons. Thirty-six years after its initial issue, the album hasn’t lost a bit of its drawing power, and the steady, unrelenting drive of “Ride on Josephine” will still make your feet move. Rounder’s 2013 reissue is a straight-up reproduction of the album’s original ten tracks, with a four-page booklet that includes a double-panel gatefold photograph and back-panel credits.
Confident and swaggering second album
Thorogood’s debut had been a turntable hit on freeform FM and college radio stations, fitting well with both those station’s heritage artists and the punk rock acts that were just starting to gain commercial traction. Thorogood’s no-holds-barred approach had roots in both blues and early rock, and though he was clearly a practiced player, there was a rawness (even a purposeful lack of finesse) that mated well to the rejection of studio-bound prog rock and overblown stadium prattle. His second album doubled down on the swagger of his debut, with a tour de force cover of “Who Do You Love?” whose howling vocal and rumbling rhythm figuratively and literally amplify the essence of Bo Diddley’s classic. The set’s opening take on “Move it on Over” likewise finds a second gear for Hank Williams’ first country hit. As with his debut, Thorogood leans on material from Elmore James, Chuck Berry, Willie Dixon, Brownie McGee and others, wearing his influences on the album sleeve and leading fans to look back in awe. Rounder’s 2013 reissue is a straight-up reproduction of the album’s original ten tracks, with an eight-page booklet that includes the label’s original liner notes. [©2013 Hyperbolium]
Left Arm Tan: Alticana
Strikingly tuneful Americana from talented Fort Worth quartet
Austin gets the press, but Fort Worth, quietly living in the glitzy shadow of Dallas high-rises, is the quirky sibling who’s cowtown heritage provides a unique sensibility without an overweening claim to hipness. So too for this Fort Worth quartet, whose second full album of Americana is as deeply appealing as it is unassuming. Left Arm Tan (the name is an overt reference to Wilco’s “Monday,” but more easily ascribed to the road-trip worthiness of their music) released their first album, Jim, in 2010, and a follow-up EP, Thurm, in 2012, picking up college, alternative and European airplay despite limited touring. In their late-30s and early-40s, the members of LAT have been through the grinding miles of year-round club-gigs, and chosen instead to settle into full-time day jobs that provide time to write and record, and play shows within a day or two’s reach.
Their careers leave them time to focus intently on songwriting and studio craft, the latter complemented on this outing by producer Salim Nourallah. The band’s country-rock foundation hasn’t changed from their self-produced releases, but Norallah’s touch (or simply their growing comfort in the studio) lets the new songs breathe more deeply. Where their earlier performances could feel rushed, as if the songs had been learned in front of uncertain bar patrons, their new studio work has the confidence of a band that knows they can hold your attention. The album opens with a typically catchy hook, “The radio’s selling tales of our unrest,” and as the societal observations turn into personal declarations the music escalates in parallel from guitar-and-voice to rock ‘n’ roll as the singer admits his real reasons for writing. You’ll find yourself humming along within the first minute, and singing the refrain the second time around.
Vocalist Troy Austin and guitarist Daniel Hines write lyrics that thread a line between personal moments, broader observations and images that complement both the internal thoughts and the external connections. There’s a twangy, almost mystical romanticism to several songs, suggesting Chris Isaak on “Black Dress,” and shading darker on “Headlights.” The latter opens with the striking lyric, “I dug a well in the pit of my heart and I named it after you,” and though the well eventually runs dry, the song turns melancholy rather than bitter. There’s a bevy of songs about longing for, budding, bending and broken relationships, each with a memorable setting and many highlighted by pithy observations and striking images. This is an accomplished album from a band whose considerable raw talent has found refined expression in the hands of an outside producer. [©2013 Hyperbolium]