Three words to remember: John Griffin McKay. His American Fantasy (Noisetrade) is a small masterpiece that captured me with its opening lines: Don't want to read another
novel/About the story of a man/How he loaded up his rifle/And brought peace
throughout the land/Don't want a Holy Ghost revival/Made by the greediness of
man/It's not about the soul's survival/But the money in your hand. McKay
hails from Waco, Texas, but he's having nothing to do with country music
clichés, faux morality, or nostrums. His style is acoustic country with
occasional rock interludes, but his lyrical sensibility put me in mind of
artists such as Ari Hest and David Ramirez, who write songs for adults. McKay
calls himself "a broken man writing songs for broken people" and we
certainly hear that in quiet dark songs such as "Poison in Our
Veins," or in the thick bass/crunchy power chord rock of "Lay Down
Your Gun." Yet there's also a sweetness to much of McKay's music–the
gentle acoustic backing to "The Pain's Right Here," the ringing
harmonics of "More Than Living," and the memorable hooks of
"Before I Sleep," the last with the poignant line: If hope is where the heart is/Then I'm a
hopeless wanderer. You simply must check out the deliberately paced 6:32
title track, which is heavy on atmospherics and is deliciously enigmatic. I
have a feeling we'll be hearing more from this artist.
Naming a favorite bluegrass band these days is about as easy
as choosing a favorite flavor at a Ben & Jerry's scoop shop, but I'll take
a big dish of Steep Canyon Rangers any
day of the week. They've got a new
CD, On
the Radio (Rounder) that exudes why so many of us love this band. There
is, first of all, the refreshing honesty of the title track, which admits
they're revivalists, not hillbillies from the hollows: I was raised on the sound of the radio/When I need to go back, I turn it
up loud/And I'm ready to go. Then there are the polished lead vocals of
Woody Platt that are all about the melody, not putting on an affected twang.
"Blue Velvet Rain" is simply a great tune and it's made all the more
so by Mike Guggino's sizzling mando licks. If you'd prefer a foot-stomper, try
"Nobody Knows You," with breakout banjo from Graham Sharp and Nicky Sanders
adding fiery fiddle while Charles Humphrey (bass) and Mike Ashworth (box
percussion) establish such solid foundations that neither Sharp nor Sanders can
knock them down. Or maybe you want some gospel evocations ("Stand and
Deliver"). This band is flat-out great. 
Tyler Motsenbocker
has a new CD about to release and if it's anything like his 2013 EP Rivers
and Roads (Tooth & Nail) it will be a cause for celebration. In the
interim, Rivers and Roads is yours to
download for a tip, and you can sample it first just to make sure it's your cup
of tea: http://www.tysonmotsenbocker.com/listen/
Motsenbacker hails from Washington State, but hit the road when his mother died
and hiked the coast south to California, where he now resides. Along the way he
used his pen to work out some grief, identity issues, and values. Motsenbacker
generally works with a resonant acoustic guitar and had a voice that at times
has smoothness evocative of a youthful Phil Ochs. This is especially true on
"Path in the Weeds." It, like other introspective songs such as
"I Still Have to Go," explores the tension between longings for home
and the realization that the answers to vaguely defined questions lie
elsewhere. There's an impressive amount of stylistic variety on this
five-track collection–everything from the crestfallen vocal/sparse piano
"Blink Behind the Leaves" to the thick arrangement of
"Footfalls," the latter a real crowd pleaser that's the optimistic
antidote to melancholy : Open your eyes
you're alive/Another fine night near the ocean/Please don't cry, it's alright/You're
always going to be my darling.
It might sound pretentious for a solo artist to have his own
band name, but Covenhoven makes a lot
of sense when you learn that it's the name of a cabin built deep in the Wyoming
woods by Joel Van Horne's grandfather. The Wild and Free pays homage to the
big spaces that make us both wistful and humble. Van Horne calls his style "symphonic
folk," by which he means the arrangements are lush and haunting. Although
he's sometimes compared to Bon Iver, to me the album felt like a folked-down
version of Snow Patrol, especially in the ways Van Horne's seamless waves of
sound soothe and cleanse. Nothing is rushed, lest something important be lost.
On the title track, we find Van Horne walking his inner child down the trails
of time; in "Blind Spots" he sings: With our pains replaced with scars/Like planes
mistaken for the stars/We set out hungry like borrowed drifter's appetite–his
prescription for seeking things not yet discovered. The Wild and Free put me in mind of an Epicurean perambulating
through the woods in pursuit of the wisdom that comes from syncing nature and
desire.
Not My Cuppa Tea
Biology is destiny when it comes to the vocal abilities of
anyone born into the extended McGarrigle/Wainwright clan. That said, the appeal
of Rufus Wainwright eludes me and
his Live
at Coventry download didn't change my mind. He has written operas and
theater pieces that are, in a nutshell, what I don't like about his music. Live at Coventry finds Wainwright behind
the piano—especially the bright keys. There's no doubt he's a superb vocalist,
but the current repertoire is cabaret-style garish and overwrought. Wainwright
has adoring fans and has added new ones since he has come out as gay, but
there's a sense of trying too hard to prove his gay cred—right down to affected
feyness. Mostly, though, the songs I sampled–"Poses,"
"Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk," and "Foolish Love"–are all-atmosphere-no-substance
forgettable, as background piano bar music tends to be.
Sometimes a new CD arrives by an artist about whom there I
some buzz. I listen, shrug, and move on. I've had people whose views I respect
tell me about Zak Trojano and I can
hear potential, but his CD, Yesterday's Sun (WhistlePig
Records), sounded homespun and not in a good way. A few tracks caught my
attention, like "Get Me Right," but I'm pretty sure I've heard its
central lick in an old country song whose title I can't recall. Another one I liked
was the folky "Long Black Vine." For me, though, Trojano's folk songs
lack sweetness, his blues lack grit, the vocals are inconsistent, the guitar's
bass notes need more contrasting treble, and the production is muddy.
Rob Weir
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