Glenn Thomas, Four Year Strong, Debra Devi. Zoe Keating

 

Songs for December I

Westerly, Rhode Island native Glenn Thomas has been kicking around in various groups, including Wild Sun, for quite a while now. Recently he moved to Nashville where, tellingly, he has been praised for his songwriting skills. This may be his best shot at fame for the simple reason that his soothing voice is too light for big venues. His new album Reassure Me There’s a Window is a collection of pensive songs that’s more Elliott Smith than Chris Stapleton. A case in point is “All You Can Do,” his musing on resolutions and how life has a way of throwing a monkey wrench into expectations:  Prayers will be said but they work too slow/When you have to fix things someone else broke. Pop Matters called it a “low-key folk jam,” and that sounds right to me with, perhaps, a bit of The Shins added as a flavor enhancer. “She IsLeaving” is another one wrapped in melancholy and ambience that suggests his new material is in a folk music singer/songwriter vein. Ditto his love song “Catharine Ames,” in which Thomas capos down on his Guild to get some bird-like tones to dance with his voice. Actual birds get to provide some answers on “Oriole.” He asks, So little oriole, what’s there to say when you realize it all fades to grey? I’m in love with the truth but I long for the comfort of lies…. His most “country” song is “Give a Damn,” which is shaped by some studio pedal steel, though to my ear it’s the simple-but-clever wordplay that stands out: I sure as hell give a damn/That I give a damn about you. In all we get ten really good songs that could easily be sung solo on the small club circuit, which is where I hope to catch him some post-COVID day.

The moment I heard “Learn to Love the Lie” from Four Year Strong, I was reminded of the Milk Carton Kids. How not? Gorgeous melody, tight harmony work between Dan O’Connor and Alan Day, solid acoustic pacing, and lines like: I don’t want to be the one to stay/I don’t want to be the one who got away/And if I’m being honest/You couldn’t get rid of me anyway. But the odd thing about it is that the quartet Four Year Strong is a punk band from Worcester. I’ve heard some of their louder material and, in all candor, the soft touch is way more memorable. “Thinking Myself in Circles” has a bit of grunge to it, but it also has an air of Milk Carton Kids. Who among us can’t relate to the title or lyrics like: I keep repeating the same thing without any meaning? Worcester is a tough town, so why not a bit more of the velvet glove?

 

If you want heavier material, Debra Devi can dish it. I’ve reviewed earlier work of hers in which I’ve commented on her let-it-rip guitar and vocals. Her latest project is an EP titled Wild Little Girl. She explains that the title “reflects my desire to encourage girls and women to be wildly creative and free and fulfill their potential to the max.” Give her a mic and an amp, and “max” is where she heads. Don’t think for a moment that a song titled “Butterfly” is going to be touchy-feelie; it’s like a bump-and-grind with blistering electric intervals. “Shake It” pretty much tells you how it’s grounded, “Tired of Waiting” opens soft but leaps into high gear, and “Stay” is hard rock in the same groove. I suppose that “Miles to Clarksdale” is Devi’s token quiet song. Her songs have meaning, but she sure does like to bring her inner wild little girl out to play.

 

Zoë Keating demands your attention and you’d be foolish not to give it. She is a cellist with an esemplastic approach to music. You might find her at a club or in a museum courtyard playing for the glitterati, but she will confound any audience with DYI shows that are both works of art and lessons in programing. “Possible” has deep, rumbling tones, nervy pulses, and drone-like repeated patterns weaving beneath the surface. Collectively they encapsulate the uncertainty implied by her composition’s title. “Out There” leaves us with the question out where? Outer space? Inner space? It has melancholic colorings that evolve into a pace that’s as analytical and deliberate as track hunting. “Optimist” is a series of plucking, bowing, and sawing that awakes from a mysterious fog, gathers pace, and ultimately comes across as uplifting.  You need to be patient, as Keating is working on so many levels that it takes time for everything to cohere. It’s well worth the wait.