Burn the Summer's Hottest Read!

 

 

Burn (2024)

By Peter Heller

Knopf, 304 pages

★★★★★

 

Few authors write about people in peril through no actions of their own as well as Peter Heller. His is the sort of world in which even those in a post-apocalyptic world are veritable innocents. In his new novel Burn Heller imagines an all too conceivable future dystopia.

 

Heller’s protagonists are two friends so close that they could be twins, the sort whose deepest secrets are somehow known to each other. Storey and Jess grew up in Putney, Vermont, though Jess, whose point of view largely narrates the novel, now lives in Colorado. Because the two are so simpatico, each year they reunite for an outdoor adventure. This time they are camping and hunting for moose in remote reaches of Maine. The woods are quiet–too quiet. And why are there no vehicles on the roads? More disturbing things emerge: human bodies, blown bridges, incinerated towns, and Black Hawk helicopters in the sky.

 

Much has been made of the so-called “disuniting” of America. What if it began to happen in earnest and you didn't get the memo? Storey and Jess find themselves in the midst of a civil war and have no way of determining who's who in the struggle. Who can you possibly trust? That much is largely predetermined because there is scarcely a living person to be found. The first one they spot is rowing furiously across a lake but is blown to smithereens by an aerial assault. So much for that possible source of information.

 

The two young men make their way northward because they've no real idea of which direction to turn. As supplies dwindle they replenish them by raiding moored boats or pilfering whatever abandoned buildings they encounter. They compensate for dying phone batteries when they chance upon a crank-operated radio. Jess was never great in his French lessons, but he retained enough that when he finds a Montreal station he decipher just enough from a news report to infer that Maine has declared independence from the United States. He also hears of terrorist activities that have killed thousands. But he still doesn't know who's attacking whom.

 

Having grown up in Vermont–Storey still lives there–the two know how to survive in the wild, but which way to a safe inhabited town so they can get back home? In some ways it doesn't matter. Things are so confused and the ruination so thorough that anyone they encountered might try to shoot them upon first sight. Their journey becomes more perilous and difficult when they come upon Collie, a five-year-old girl who wants to find her parents and wonders why her beloved dog Crystal is “asleep” and won't wake up. (See what Heller did there?) There’s a war going on, but would you just leave her there?

 

Burn is a thriller in which a single move could be the last one. In such a scenario, Jess and Storey spend a lot of time lurking in the shadows. They reminisce, muse upon their friendship, think upon the secrets they hold, and contemplate the choices they have made since they were boys. Jess recalls how he spent most of his boyhood and teenaged years living in the barn of Storey’s parents because he had trouble relating to his own. He also thinks of how his marriage is on the rocks and wonders if he has screwed up his best chance for happy life. Will these two friends and their unlikely companion survive amidst the ashes of destruction? If any of them do, will they find their better selves? Heller is too good of a writer to giftwrap such questions.

 

Burn is ultimately like a wildfire that could wipe out everything in its path, change directions, or simmer to easily contained embers. Heller excels at contrasts between nature and humankind, the poetic beauty of the first and the indiscriminate destruction of the latter. He is a gifted storyteller and is equally adroit at plotting action for maximum impact. In fact, he's so good at it, you might find yourself doing as I did, burning through the pages as if the flames would scorch me if I didn't finish quickly.

 

Rob Weir

New Britain Museum of Art II: Permanent Collection

 

 

 

New Britain Museum of American Art II

56 Lexington Avenue

New Britain, Connecticut

Permanent Collection

 

Before the NBMAA expanded, the current Landers House and several outbuildings housed its collection. It’s bigger, nicer, and more flexible now but it remains true to its original mission: American art.

 

For the most part it shows it roots. It was founded in 1903, hence its four major strengths lie in 19^th century works such as the Hudson River School, Gilded Age painters, regional artists, and American Impressionists. It has holdings that date to the Colonial era as well as some modern and contemporary works, but anything after the 1940s falls into the category of choice, but small in number.

 

Its best newer works might well be its whimsical sculptural benches that are a delight for both the eyes and weary feet. My favorite was the above bronze bear. Is it growling or grinning? I’m going with the latter, but I’m kind of partial to bears.

 

 

 

 

The NBMAA is also heavier on painting than sculpture, but I was taken by “Metamorphosis” (1960) by Dina Melicov. She twisted and deconstructed bodies and puckishly made one evoke a tooth and the other an ear. 

 

Church

 

Insofar as painting goes, Frederic Church ticked both the Hudson River and regional art boxes with his 1849 “West Rock New Haven.” Bear in mind that the Hudson River School took inspiration from transcendentalism and often opted for grandeur rather than realism. 

 

Bradford

 

 

I don’t know much about William Bradford, but “Of the Greenland Coast” (1873) is an attention-grabber. That smudge in the middle is the sun–at midnight–a tip-off this scene came from midsummer. How different is this light than that of impressionist Childe Hassam’s “The Dragon Cloud” (1903) or early modernist Rockwell Kent’s 1907 “Toilers of the Sea.” 

 

Hassam

Kent

 

 

 

Beal

 

The first part of the 20^th century saw the rise of the Ashcan school of painting that took a harder and often harsher look at American society. Ashcan painters repudiated “pretty” art in favor of street life, industrial workers, poverty, and grit. Think of the bloodied boxers of George Bellows or his famed “The Lone Tenement.” From across the room Gifford Beal could be mistaken for Bellows, though his “Elevated Columbus Avenue” (1916) isn’t as expertly executed. It does, however, capture a side of urban life in the shadows. Is that a foiled picket pocket we see on the left? It’s certainly a mixed crowd under the El. John Sloan’s “Main Street Gloucester” (1917) has the same vibe. Apparently France had its seedy side as well if we believe “Paris Street No. 2” by Everett Shinn.

 

Sloan

Shinn

 

 

Grant Wood

 

You could say a lot about Irish immigration–including its male public life and the invention of dewy-eyed exile culture–in “A Sentimental Ballad” (1942) by modernist Grant Wood. I used to show this slide to discuss how Irish women felt differently about emigration, but had no idea that the NBMAA owned it. (Far fewer Irish women shed tears for the Auld Sod!)   

 

Beaux

Du Bois

 

 

On the topic of women, Cecilia Beaux is a sadly overlooked painter, which is a bloody shame for the first woman to teach at the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts. As we see above, like John Singer Sargent, she did a lot of portraits for hire. I was also mesmerized by a 1939 piece from Yvonne Pene Du Bois, “Carmine Street.” It’s quite a contrast to the rubbing elbows scenes from Beal and Sloan. Her work has the loneliness of Edward Hopper, but also an edge of surrealism.

 

I could go on, but let’s just say you can spend a fascinating day hunting down your own favorites at the NBMAA. If you need a break, there’s a nice terrace for a coffee, or you can stroll across the street to a nice public park.

 

Rob Weir

Robert Parker in the 1990s

 

  

My favorite Robert B. Parker Spenser novels were those from the 1990s. By then the characters had been fleshed out and seemed like old friends. That made reading like sitting down with people you’ve known for years and catching up with the latest news. The difference, of course, is that Spenser and his inner circle got into some bizarre situations that often involved guns. Here are four I particularly like.

 

 

 

In an earlier piece I said that Senser doesn’t think he can save the world or pose as a social reformer. In Double Deuce (1992) he does the latter. More improbably, Hawk is the catalyst. Hawk maintains the exterior of an unsentimental guy, but when 15-year-old Devona and her 3-month-old daughter are gunned down because of a turf war, Hawk’s blood boils, and he makes a promise. The title references 22 Hobart Street where the murder took place. Hawk asks Spenser to help him pacify the area occupied by street gangs. For once, Hawk is on board with the idea of no shooting if it can be avoided. That’s a challenge. This is such a nasty section of black Boston that law enforcement keeps its distance. How are two guys–one of them white–going to clean it up by sitting in a car, watching, drinking coffee, and staring down threats. By Parker standards Double Deuce has less violence but is often more tense. The resolution is unlikely to become a model for community policing or urban renewal, but it’s unique and effective. 

 

 

 

Susan is the fulcrum in Walking Shadow (1994). She’s on the board of the Port City Theatre Company, a hope-over-resources avantgarde outfit in a decaying fishing town. Its reminiscent of New Bedford, but Port City is close to Boston and has a large Chinese population, so perhaps it’s a composite of Revere and someplace like Quincy. Spenser is asked by its artistic director to investigate his sense that he is being stalked. Paranoia? When an actor is shot dead on stage–which puts a damper into everyone’s evening–there’s clearly something afoot. Another tipoff is the namesake shade that disappears from where the person making it should be. Spenser is thrown in the world of tong wars, kidnapping, unrequited love, and more murders. He senses extreme danger even though Hawk and semi-reformed hood Vinnie Morris have his back. Translator Mei Ling also assists, as Spenser is out of his depth in how the Chinese underworld world works. It has a twist I did not see coming.  

 

 

 

In Thin Air (1995), Spenser is called upon to do a solid for a guy who has done many for him: Sgt. Frank Belson of the Boston Police Department. The divorced Belson hasn’t been the luckiest in love, but he seems to have the jackpot in the former Lisa St. Claire. They have been married for less than a year when Lisa disappears, and Frank asks Spenser to find her. He quickly discovers she has been kidnapped. Most Spenser novels have the man himself as the omniscient narrator, but Thin Air is also narrated by Lisa in captivity. (Her narrative is in italics in my copy of the book.) All signs point to a former partner from her days in which her life was, shall we say, less respectable than being a cop’s wife. Spenser will call upon gun-for-hire Chollo and Frank must reveal and hear things about Lisa that he’d rather not, especially events from her life in the Merrimack River town of Proctor. If that weren’t enough, Frank is hospitalized in an apparent assassination attempt. Chollo helps Spenser gain access to a Latino network, but can Chollo cool his jets and let Spenser call the metaphorical shots? This one has a fiery ending.

 

 

 

Potshot was published in 2001–the first year of the 21^st century–but I’m sneaking it into this column on the 1990s. Spenser is so associated with Boston, the North Shore, and (occasionally) New York City that it’s easy to forget that Spenser’s bio has him born and raised in Laramie, Wyoming. As in Double Douce, Spenser is akin to a Wild West sheriff. A referral from the LAPD puts Spenser in contact with Mary Lou Buckman from the desert town of Potshot, Arizona. Her husband Steve has been murdered. She insists that the deed was done The Preacher, the head of a gang holed up in an old mine in the Sawtooth Mountain foothills. Local sheriff Dean Walker is clearly not up to the task of confronting The Preacher or stop him and his associates from extorting local businesses. Spenser is offered major cash to get rid of the gang anyway he can. To that end, he recruits a gang of his own–including Hawk, Chollo, and Vinnie. Spenser reckons his seven is plenty to eliminate their 40. The problem is that Spenser doubts  that The Preacher killed Steve, Mary Lou is on the level, or that restoring civic pride is what his contract is all about.

 

Rob Weir

 

 

 

 

 

Visit the New Britain Museum of Art

 

 

 

Be greeted by penguins!

New Britain Museum of American Art I

56 Lexington Avenue

New Britain, Connecticut

Current Special Exhibitions

[Note: Some images are off-center to avoid harsh reflections]

 

One of the most underrated and under-visited at museums in New England is the New Britain Museum of American Art (NBMAA). It used to be small and cramped but, if like me, you haven’t been there in decades you’re in for a pleasant surprise, including its 21^st century expansion.

 

Connecticut is a weird state in that it has some of wealthiest towns and cities in America but also some the poorest. New Britain (population 74,000) isn’t usually on the tourist trail. The one-time “Hardware Capital of the World” has sections of postindustrial waste akin to a mini version of Detroit and the social problems that come with a gutted out center, but it’s trying.

 

The NBMAA is, however, is located in a leafy neighborhood roughly 10 miles from Hartford. In Part I of an overlook of the NBMAA I will comment upon a few of the current special exhibitions. In Part II I’ll offer selections from the permanent collection.

 

Justin Favela

 

 

 

 

The first new exhibition you will encounter is a work from Justin Favela, a contemporary artist whose assemblage Do You See What I See? (through January 26, 2025) is way more impressive than perhaps it sounds. Favela was inspired by the paper that covers pinatas. Imagine a tropical scene made entirely of small colored slips. That’s a lot of work, right? Now imagine a sizable tall anteroom covered from floor to ceiling with tissue, paper, carboard, and glue. The NBMAA is famed from its Thomas Hart Benton mural, but Favela gives a Latino twist to mural art. It’s huge and you will spend time looking for angles that bring its components into focus. It’s bold, colorful, and wondrous. 

 

Walter Baumhofer The Red Skull 1933

 

The period between World Wars One and Two featured both the Roaring Twenties and the Great Depression. Wonder Stories : Pulp Art Illustration from the NBMAA (through November 3, 2024) captures the hype of the Jazz Age and the adaptations made during economic collapse. Pulp fiction–so-called because it was soft-bound, printed on cheap paper, and cheap to buy–has been around since the 19^th century. Its stories were mostly intended to thrill and titillate rather than hold the pretense of being called “literature.” Much of the content hewed to preferences of the moment. During the 1920s, for example, there were tales of wartime bravery, aviation, westerns, science fiction, and detectives. Many of those themes persisted into the 1930s, though the tales tended to be even more lurid, cheap diversions for the downtrodden.

 

 

Frederick Blakelee Patrol of the Cloud Crusher 1936

 

What does it have to do with art? Quite a bit. Pulp fiction works were roughly the size of Readers’ Digest and featured dramatic art on the cover. Those covers were reproduced from much larger paintings–often as big as 2 x 3 feet. More surprisingly, the originals were usually oil paintings. Like the stories inside, cover art was supposed to offer thrills rather than fall into fine art categories. Most of them were like the magazines–discarded after use–so it’s amazing that much survived. Wonder Stories isn’t a large exhibit, but it’s very cool to see the paintings and magazines displayed together. 

 

 

The Gray Major

Frank Paul Science Wonder Works 1929

 

 

 

                                                        Richard Case Six Gun Saga 1941
 

 

 

I am a fan of indigenous art, but The Land Carries Our Ancestors (through September 15, 2024) was a mild disappointment, largely because of its subtheme: Contemporary Art by Native Americans. I have cherrypicked a few images I really liked, but a lot of it was simply uninspiring in the ways that a lot of contemporary art fails to connect with those who view it. Artists, of course, have every right to make whatever they wish, but they have a responsibility to explain it if it goes on a wall. And by explain, I mean in intelligible no-BS terms, not gibberish that AI could say better.

 

Joe Fedderson Inhabited Landscapes I

              Steven Yazie Orchestrating a Blooming Desert

Rose Simpson "Tontantzin"

 

 

 

George Alexander You Found Me, You Should Never Have Lost Me*

*The explanation for this one is incomprehensible!
 

 

Two other exhibits are small but good. Glass Impressions (through November 3, 2024) features spectacular studio glass and vitreographs  (designs in or floating upon glass). Another exhibit, Handled with Care (through October 6, 2024) displays some objects from Hancock Shaker Village and works from Barbara Prey inspired by them. I’m not sure she tells us much of anything new, but Shaker craft continues to hold fascination for artists and artisans alike. 

 

 

 

Rob Weir

Blind Democrats: Episode # 519

 

 

Democrats are pathetic when it comes to blowing elections. The Democratic National Committee (DNC) and blinder-bound Team Joe acolytes have circled the wagons. That’s Biden’s reward for making Donald Trump look good.

 

Biden defenders tell us that one bad debate doesn’t matter. Maybe it shouldn’t matter, but it’s an abuse of history to say it doesn’t. Democrats should know better.  An old friend brought up the 1960 debate between John F. Kennedy and Richard Nixon, the so- called “first television debate.” Nixon had been ill, refused to use any makeup, and appeared on camera looking like an extra for a zombie movie. Those listening on the radio thought Nixon won the debate, but TV was the forum of the future.

 

We can bemoan the dumbing down of American politics, but 1960 paved the way for impressionistic campaigns. In 1964, the slain Kennedy’s former Vice President, Lyndon Johnson, faced off against Barry Goldwater. Even before that debate Johnson’s Democratic team engaged in downright dirty politics. If you don’t know it, check out LBJ’s “Daisy” ad. In the first debate, Johnson painted Goldwater as a dangerous extremist and he never recovered.

 

Four years later, Nixon got his revenge. In debate he painted LBJ’s Veep, Hubert Humphrey, as a key player in bollixing the Vietnam War. The “New Nixon” promised he had a “secret plan” to end the war. That was as dishonest as most of what he did, but Humphrey did not shed the allegation that he was LBJ’s right-hand flunky. Nor could Eugene McCarthy manage to convince voters that he was more than a one-trick pony in 1972, though Nixon was already perceived as crooked.

 

In 1980, Jimmy Carter managed to turn what pollsters said would be a close election into a Ronald Reagan rout. Carter came off as a stern school master. Reagan spouted nostrums and hokum, but he was sunny and avuncular. When the dust settled, Carter won just five states. Four years later, Reagan did to Walter Mondale what Nixon did to Humphrey. Mondale won only his native Wisconsin and that by a razor thin margin. If you like irony, Reagan was 73 when reelected, which made him the oldest person to win the presidency–until Biden! Reagan was a whopping nine years younger than Joe will be in November.

 

Let’s jump ahead to 1988, when George H. W. Bush tarred Mike Dukakis as an elitist liberal. Both were questionable, but it’s stunning that George “Born with a Silver Spoon in His Mouth” who grew up in Connecticut and Kennebunkport, Maine, and attended Yale could convince anyone he wasn’t an elitist. The Duke was just 55, but  Bush I eviscerated him.

 

In 1992, though, Bill Clinton uttered four words in a debate over the economy that catapulted him to the presidency: “I feel your pain.” In ’96 Bob Dole ran against Clinton and lost because he never made it stick that the impeachment trial against Bonkin’ Bill was about anything other than sex–despite the fact that Clinton committed perjury.  

 

Bush the younger won in 2000, partly because Al Gore failed to prove he wasn’t as boring as summer re-runs. Bush II won again four years later when the Democrats nominated John Kerry, a dyed-in-the-wool elitist who managed to make Gore seem exciting by contrast.

 

I thrilled to Obama’s victories in 2008 and 2012 but let’s not pretend his campaign was all about substance. He hammed Dole in ’08 on the unpopular Iraq war and Sarah Palin’s gaffes. Romney played Al Gore in 2012 and bland seldom unseats an incumbent POTUS. I think you know what happened in 2016 and 2020. If you don’t think Hillary came off an elitist and Trump as a pompous jerk versus Blue-Collar Biden, pass me some of what you’ve been drinking.

 

The moral is clear: Millions of voters go by their gut not by their undereducated heads. To use marketing language, Biden has damaged his brand and calling Zelensky “President Putin” a few days ago is another nail in his coffin. If the DNC can’t cut him loose–something the rank and file has demanded–the only obstacle to the Return of Lord Voldemort is self-destruction.

 

Rob Weir

 

 

 

 

Hologram for the King Not Destined to be a Classic

 

 

 

 

A Hologram for the King (2016)

Directed by Tom Tykwer

Lionsgate, 97 minutes, R (nudity, language, drug/alcohol use)

★

 

Sometimes when you’ve never even heard of the movie you’re about to watch, it’s because it’s a sparkling independent film made outside the corporate hype machine. Other times, it’s because the films stinks like a skunk with gas. A Hologram for the King falls into the latter category. It was made on a $35 million budget–chump change these days–and only recouped a third of that. The reason it survives on DVD and Kanopy can be explained in two words: Tom Hanks.

 

The tag line for this one could be: “Community Theater Does Death of a Salesman in the Desert.” Hanks plays Alan Clay, who once worked in sales for Schwinn and oversaw the layoff of most of the workforce when bicycle production was outsourced to China. He’s now shilling (but not selling) holographic teleconferencing networks, a job he got because he once met the nephew to the king of Saudi Arabia. It would be quite coup if Alan could land a lucrative Saudi contract.

 

Clay is, however, a mess. He has undergone an acrimonious and expensive divorce, harbors guilt from what happened at Schwinn, is under pressure to sell or be fired, can’t afford his daughter’s college tuition, and has the self-confidence of your average milquetoast. He only briefly met the powerful Saudi nephew at a large conference, but he’s being sent to Saudi Arabia to pitch his company’s holographic wares. Are you laughing yet at the setup for this comedy/drama/romance?

 

No? I’ll bet you could have written a better script! What’s on the screen is shocking considering it was based on a work by Dave Eggers. Clay gets to Saudi Arabia but misses the shuttle from Jeddah to the King’s Metropolis of Economy and Trade (KMET). He has to hire a driver. Yousef (Alexander Black) is a bit wacked, talks a mile a minute, is part of the unsanctioned underground economy, and is in love with the daughter of a rich family that forbids their match. Ha ha. The KMET is an elaborate but barren shell in the desert that might or might not turn into something. Alan’s team is ensconced in a tent that lacks, well, everything: Internet, food, furniture, air conditioning, beds, a local contact…. Alan has encounters with a receptionist in the one building that’s operational. Her job seems to be to keep Alan uninformed.

 

Back at the hotel he can’t even drown his troubles. It’s Saudi Arabia, so no alcohol. He meets Hanne, a horny Danish woman who gives him a bottle of olive oil. Why is she Danish? Because the movie was made by an international consortium. I suppose it could have been worse, as the Cayman Islands also took part in this camel wreck. Can you guess what’s inside the olive oil bottle? Stop it! These jokes are killing me!

 

Each morning Alan oversleeps and needs Yousef to take him the KMET where… nothing happens. He finally circumvents the receptionist, finds his contact working in an unfinished condo complex at the KMET and scores stuff for his team. Now for the really hysterical part; Alan has a gross bump on his spine. I’ll spare those details because it’s a setup for him to meet Dr. Zahra Haken (Sarita Choudhury).  You know what they say, there’s nothing like a potentially cancerous lump to make a Saudi woman fall for you. Except, of course, Choudhury isn’t Saudi; she’s Bengali British, though she’s cute in her chador and quite lovely out of it. If you think that might be a tad culturally insensitive, in one of Yousef’s Driving Mr. Alan episodes he misses an exit and drives a robed Clay through Mecca, a gag roughly as offensive as farting in the Vatican. I assume Mecca is stock footage as the movie was actually filmed in Morocco and Egypt.

 

There is so much more this film could have been about–believable cultural misconnections and a more nuanced look at growing Chinese economic dominance to name two–but instead we get love at a beach house. At every juncture where director Tom Tykwer could have made an intelligent comedy he opted for the obvious no matter whose culture he had to belittle. I could go on, but this has already taken more time than you should devote to watching this film, Rated R for rancid. 

 

Rob Weir

July 2024 Music: Brian Mackey; Fink and Marxer; Melissa Carper; Amy Annelle; Charlie Overbey ; Khoomei Beat; Alba Haro

 

I’ve never met Brian Mackey but there’s something about Good Morning Ireland, the smoothness of his voice, and the sentiments in his lyrics that makes me want to. He’s not from the Auld Sod; he was born in New Jersey, lives in New York, has been kicking around the alt.folk and alt.rock scenes since the early part of the century and has been carrying a heavy load. He recently became a father again, but his son Brian died from a heroin dose–the shadow on the cover. As good songwriters do, he picked up his pen to spill out some of his pain and hope. Good Morning Ireland is an album of healing and people dealing with unresolved issues. “Cold,” for instance, is about a woman he asks, And who made you so cold/And this feelin’ you’re under/Who made you so damn cold…. The pop-influenced “Don’t Be Sad” is an uplifting song suggesting that making connections is the key to betting past disappointments big and small: Regret is a long drive/You don’t wanna take by yourself…. “Dublin Night Bird” which inspired the album title, could have been maudlin. After all, it’s about traveling to Ireland with his son’s ashes to scatter. Mackey uses his light and expressive tenor to sing his sadness, yet find small-but-poignant reasons to hang on. And let’s not forget the healing power of love. There are several such songs on the album, but try “More Than Anyone” with its splashes of bluegrass fiddle and soaring notes that collectively bring a smile. There are sixteen tracks in all and I admired every one of them.

 

 

It’s been a while since last I heard Cathy Fink and Marcy Marxer and it was joyful to know they are still making compelling music. Their voices, banjos, guitars, mandolin, and ukulele are joined by the yangqin (Chinese hammer dulcimer) of Chao Tian on From China to Appalachia. The album is exactly as promised, one that demonstrates the affinity and intersection between American and Chinese traditional music. In a baker’s dozen tracks they move back and forth between the two cultures. Chances are good many listeners won’t know Chinese offerings such as “August Flower,” “The White Snake Song,” and “Nan Ni Wan,” though you might know a marching song popularized by Pete Seeger with an improbable title gleaned from Mao Zedong: “The Rules of Discipline and Eight Points of Attention.” You will probably be on more familiar ground with pieces such as Ola Belle Reed’s “High on a Mountain,” “Pig Ankle Rag,” “Mary Don’t You Weep,” and Cousin Emmy’s “Ruby, AreYou Mad at Your Man.” One listen to to “Glory Meets the Meeting House” will drive home what becomes obvious as you move through this wonderful project: Music crosses borders and ideologies to highlight our shared humanity.

 

 

We recently encountered Melissa Carper as one-third of Wonder Women of Country. Borned in Ya is her new solo LP. She hails from Arkansas but her approach is that of the big mountains and foothills back in the days when “Western” music was separate from “Country.” Western music was heavier on fiddles, swing music, jazz for the masses, and singing cured by campfires and wide open spaces. In other words, more Patsy Montana than Patsy Cline (or today’s airbrushed Nashville icons). The title track is a bit of a tease–a mix of country and evangelical fervor­–though Carper’s commanding voice is on full display. But check out the giddyup of “Lucky Five” supplemented by a band arrangement circa 1940. Or deliberately retro songs like “I Don’t Love You Anymore,” “That’s My Desire,” or “Every Time We Say Goodbye.” That’s because some of the material on the album is retro. “Every Time” was penned by Cole Porter, for instance. “Your Furniture” is another that Carper sings as if it ought to be coming from the speakers of an old Philco radio.  This is a delightful album that’s so outta of the past that it circles back and feels brand new. The album drops on July 19 so look for new videos once it’s on the streets.

 

 

 

Amy Annelle has had a rough stretch of bad health–endometriosis, fibromyalgia, mental health challenges–so it’s understandable she hasn’t had a new record for a while. You could assign a lot of meanings to “Pull Tabs and Broken Glass,” the first track on The Toll. She now lives in Austin, so that song has a real Texas feel, though she prefers to call herself a folk and Americana artist. The catchy “Down and Out in Denver” certainly has more of a folk vibe, the sort that’s upbeat despite themes of mistakes and regret. This is another album that releases in July with only a few advance videos available. Though it’s not on The Toll, “Distance Lullaby,” which she wrote doing Covid lock down, gives you another taste of her music.

 

 

The album In Good Company by Charlie Overbey reminds us again that the barriers between rock and country music have pretty much collapsed. Overbey is the lead vocalist on each track. His is a strong, gravely voice but once you listen you’ll wonder if he’s trying to take us back to the glory days of electric music or is offering a new kind of outlaw boot rock. This much is clear; every track except one has an electric guitarist. None other than Nils Lofgren does the honors on “CChampagne CocaineCadillacs and Cash," a so long to the crazy life and the woman he shared it with. But don’t expect mellow acoustic, even though that’s Overbey’s axe of choice. Duane Betts plugs in for Overbey’s “Life of Rock n Roll.” It too poses as a farewell to rock, but perhaps with tongue in cheek. To return to the song without an electric guitar, that would be “Miss Me” with John Graboff on pedal steel. Not everyone will agree, but for me it was the only track that didn’t sound like everything else.   

 

 

Short Cuts:

 

If you’ve never heard Tuvan throat singing, you must. Tuva is a section of Siberia and Mongolia that was once the domain of nomadic herders who lived in yurts. It still is to some extent though modernity has altered many aspects of life. Khöömei Beat is a quintet of five Tuvan musicians who use overtone vocals to imitate sounds of nature and communicate across vast distances. Changys Baglaash sports a softer drone sound and updated arrangements than traditional Tuvan singing but it’s still unforgettable. Try “My Ancestor’s Khoomei" and listen for the growls and improbable sounds. If you like it, seek more. “Dembildey” is available.

 

 

Alba Haro is from Barcelona where she studied cello and jazz vocals. Next up was Boston’s Berklee School of Music for a master’s in production and performance. The latter informs her EP Triptica. “Amanece” is frenetic free form modern music followed by a poem. “Acoral” features sad strings, periods of relative silence, keys, and Haro’s haunting sometimes keening vocals. This avantgarde project won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, but I was intrigued.