|
 |
|
|
Alejandro Escovedo |
 |
For the Turnpike Troubadours’ third album, Goodbye Normal Street, the Evan Felker-led band of Oklahomans has cemented its rightful spot in the vanguard of the current crop of rising Red Dirt talents. No, forget that: these guys are pretty much in a league of their own, with roots that go a whole lot deeper than those of most other twenty-something (or even thirty-something) bands on the Texas/Oklahoma music scene. Slick tales of floating rivers and simplistic professions of love are definitely not what Felker and fellow Troubadours R.C. Edwards, Kyle Nix, Ryan Engleman, and Gabriel Pearson, are really into. Just listen to the new album’s “Southeastern Son,” a prime example of how the Woody Guthrie-loving quintet uses its literate, old-school storytelling-style to proffer a freshly relevant tale: “The Army man told me that I could defend the free,” sings Felker, “and draw me a paycheck and get a tech-school degree.” And check the title of the duet with the Trisha’s Jamie Wilson, “Call a Spade a Spade,” an old-timer’s cliché that sounds sexy thanks to Wilson’s sultry drawl. Goodbye Normal Street is by no means an antiquated-sounding folk record or a somber collection of cumbersome acoustic balladry, but several songs do showcase an array of prominent roots-driven methods of propulsion. Sonic elements such as the gothic, Appalachian-style banjo and slithery fiddle of the album’s opener, “Gin, Smoke and Lies,” (which could easily be the theme song for television’s Justified), and “Before the Devil Knows We’re Dead,” which features some wild-ass fiddle fury, give the entire collection a thrillingly rustic edge. Continuing the use of fiddle to hammer home their musical message, “Blue Star” busts out of the gate with an entangled harmonica and fiddle weaving their way throughout. Felker and crew make a decisive, believable move to craft a time-honored yet compelling trademark sound. Perhaps the album should have been titled entitled, Hello, Big Time. — KELLY DEARMORE
|
|
JOSH ABBOTT BAND
|
Small Town Family Dream, the first album from the Josh Abbott Band to feature cover songs, is a cohesive work that Abbott says is dedicated to the “common, hard-working people.” It’s a theme he touches on in the album closing title track, but it’s actually best epitomized in the three outside songs: the Terry Allen twofer of “FFA” and “Flatland Farmer” (both picked from his classic 1979 album Lubbock on Everything), and “I’ll Sing About Mine” by Adam Hood and Brian Keane (who have each recorded their own version of the song.) The rest of Small Town Family Dream features original songs covering love, a few more hard-working people, and of course, allegiance to Texas. If you listen to Texas country radio, no doubt you’ve already heard a couple of ’em: “Touch” (of course), and “My Texas” (which name-checks Pat Green and features Pat Green). Dig those? There are other songs you’ll like here, too — most notably the opening anthem, “Idalou,” in which Abbott salutes his very own small town in West Texas. On the more romantic side, “She Will Be Free” and “Dallas Love” will no doubt be shining belt buckles all over Texas. But if you’ve ever trashed your friends for listening to Toby Keith, then best skip “Hotty Toddy” for reasons that should be obvious by the title. Overall, though, Small Town Family Dream is slick, catchy Texas country that goes down easy, with just enough banjo to keep it from seeming too slick. JAB fans who wore through the band’s previous efforts will no doubt be busting out the bikinis and floating down the river to this one all summer long — or at least as long as radios are still legal on the river. — CODY OXLEY |
JOHN FULLBRIGHT
|
How good is John Fullbright’s anxiously anticipated From the Ground Up? (Yes, anticipated — at least by the who’s who of fellow musicians whose admiration he’s already won this early in his career, and by the musically in-the-know masses who have been lucky enough to see and hear the young Oklahoman over the past few years as he’s generated considerable buzz at Folk Alliance conferences and SXSW.) Well, here’s how good: There’s not a songwriter in Texas — or Oklahoma, for that matter — who wouldn’t relinquish a body part to write just one song half as good as any of the 12 on From the Ground Up. Okay, yes, maybe a tad hyperbolic, but you get the point. |
JASON EADY
|
Jason Eady, a folkie with a bluesman’s grit in his groan, has never been one for the more rocking side of Red Dirt. But he’s no one-trick pony, either, as proven from the get-go on the Kevin Welch-produced AM Country Heaven, an unapologetically straight-up classic country record that veers drastically from the gothic delta and teary acoustic folk numbers from his previous releases. Such artistically shifting sands often create an unstable product, but Eady has made a believable musical crawl from juke joints and coffeehouses to the old-school saloons that are the perfect home for this record. While the modern-pop-country-hating theme of the opening title track is as played out as the subject of drinking a Shiner-flavored kolache during a bluebonnet-colored Lubbock sunset, the contribution of virtuoso guitarist Redd Volkaert lends the FM Radio-basher a believability that’s often missing from songs that cloak themselves in a trendy topic. The majestic vocals of Patty Loveless on “Man On a Mountain” don’t exactly hurt the record’s country-cred, either. There’s a Big Bend-sized difference between pandering while sounding dated and proffering the sincerity of timeless warmth that Eady does here. Make no mistake: this isn’t a Texas country album, but an honest-to-George Jones country and western record conceived in the cheap beer and packed floors of Any Dance Hall, U.S.A. — KELLY DEARMORE |
WALT WILKINS
|
Walt Wilkins bookends Plenty with a Zen mantra (“Just Be”) and a psalm for gratitude embraced (“Between Midnight & Day”). At heart, a sweet Central Texas love letter (the wonderfully titled “A Farm-to-Market Romance”) anchors this truly masterful collection. “These are the fields and the hills that I love,” Wilkins sings. “If I ever leave, it’ll be just for heaven above.” Like those lines, the album title suggests serenity and contents confirm throughout. If only everyone could produce such inspired work from contentment. As is, this album can stand proudly when weighed against any great folk high watermark, but comparisons are entirely unnecessary. Wilkins’ eighth album – equal measures grace (“”Hang on to Your Soul”) and grit (“Maybe Everybody Quit Cheatin’”) – is a singular work. Appropriate superlatives are endless: elegant (“Something Like Heaven”) and eloquent (“Like Strother Martin”), heartening (“Gray Hawk”) and hopeful (“Under This Cottonwood Tree (This Is It)”) only begin the list. As a writer, Wilkins cuts with exacting precision: No words are wasted, and everything simply fits. Additionally, Wilkins clearly understands production nuances. Like his sharp songwriting, he adds (“Rain All Night”) and subtracts (“Soft September Night”) precisely when needed. Add this to Wilkins’ list of blessings: with Plenty, he’s created one of the best Texas albums of the year. |
WILLIE NELSON
|
Heroes isn’t a classic Willie Nelson album, but it is a very good one. It takes a while to get there, though, given that all of the clunkier tunes are clustered near the front of the record. His remake of “A Horse Called Music” is just as embarrassing now as it was the first time he recorded it back in 1989; Tom Waits’ secular spiritual “Come On Up to the House” goes on too long; and “No Place to Fly” is a collection of lyrical clichés. But once you get past those songs, you’re treated to a program of classics, old and new. Willie’s son Lukas contributes “Every Time He Drinks He Thinks of Her,” a drinking song with a thumping Waylon Jennings-like beat, and “The Sound of Your Memory,” a weeper that’s more emotionally complex than your average country tune, with a hint of rock in its delivery. The three songs penned by Willie himself are all keepers, too. “Roll Me Up and Smoke Me When I Die,” sounds like it was written under the influence of his favorite herb (obviously); the autobiographical “Hero” (featuring Billy Joe Shaver and Jamey Johnson) is a solid song about a musician’s life on the road; and the spiritual “Come On Back Jesus” is full of snarky humor. Covers include country chestnuts as well as Pearl Jam’s “Just Breathe” and Coldplay’s “The Scientist,” both of which stay pretty close to the original arrangements. — J. POE |
TODD SNIDER
|
Todd Snider recording an album of Jerry Jeff Walker songs is the very essence of the term “no-brainer” — and for better or worse, Time As We Know It embodies all the aspects of that term.
|
SETH WALKER
|
Talk about understated. Former Austinite Seth Walker, who moved to Nashville a few years ago, has gone elemental on his latest release, using his formidable guitar skills more as an embellishment of his vocals than a focal point. Considering his residency in not one, but two guitar-revering towns, that’s a bold step. The whole album has a dialed-down feel; leisurely tempos, tasty licks with a few flourishes here and there … nothing fancy. It puts the emphasis on his oh-so-nuanced vocals, and the effortless-sounding keyboard wizardry of pal Kevin McKendree. “Stronger Than You Need to Be,” “Found Myself Lost” and “I’ve Got a Thing for You” carry varying degrees of funkiness, with a bit of bossa-nova added to that middle one — one of two co-writes with Nashville songwriting/producing go-to guy Gary Nicholson. It’s also one of the few songs in which Walker breaks out a bit on guitar. Perhaps Walker’s best vocal moment comes in “What Now,” in which he conjures his best jazz-club Ray Charles, with McKendree’s delicious ivory-tickling, Derrek Phillips’ drum brush swirls and Steve Mackey’s standup bass adding to the smoky effect we can feel emanating through the stereo. Not surprisingly, he employs Nashville faves the McCrary sisters for backing vocals on a couple of songs; very surprisingly, he’s got Raul Malo contributing bass to a track. Bass! How about some duetting, guys? That we’d like to hear! Not that Walker doesn’t do an admirable job by himself. — LYNNE MARGOLIS |
BONNIE RAITT
|
Bonnie Raitt always gets kudos for her wicked cool guitar chops, but even if she couldn’t play a single lick, she’d still blow nearly everyone else out of the water with that voice. It’s one of the prettiest sounds on the planet, as Raitt’s new Slipstream reminds us at almost every turn. Raitt goes from funky and sexy on Randall Bramblett’s “Used to Rule the World” to the heartbreaking balladry of “Not Cause I Wanted To” with seemingly effortless ease. Her delivery on the Joe Henry/Loudon Wainwright III song, “You Can’t Fail Me Now,” is just gorgeous, from her guitar tone to her many-shaded, expressive rendering of these wonderful lyrics. Maybe it took days or weeks to achieve that perfection, but it sounds as if she nailed it in one take. She also gives a reggae-dipped texture to Gerry Rafferty’s “Right Down the Line,” adding more delectable rhythm and vocals than the original possessed. Hitting high notes with supple ease and giving it all kinds of change-ups, she throws in some zinging slide licks that send it to an even higher level. She scales another summit with her dirty-blues read on Dylan’s “Million Miles.” And on it goes. Interesting, one of the few falters on Slipstream is “Marriage Made in Hollywood,” a song by Paul Brady and Michael O’Keefe, Raitt’s ex-husband. But it’s overridden by the strength of tracks like the closer, “God Only Knows,” featuring only her elegant vocal and Patrick Warren’s keyboard work. After a seven-year break from recording, Bonnie’s definitely back — and hasn’t missed a step. Or a lick. — LYNNE MARGOLIs  |
ROB BAIRD
|
Rob Baird’s I Swear It’s the Truth is the wise-beyond-his-years album that some folks were making the still-fresh-faced Baird’s first national release, Blue Eyed Angels, out to be. Sure, that last album, written mostly when Baird was 21 years old, was a mature offering — for a writer of that age. But this outing boasts a casual confidence that comes from a guy (now 25, incidentally) that absolutely belongs in any conversation of Texas’ better artists, regardless of age. The rhythmic, B3 Hammond-heavy “Same Damn Thing” is both a shout-out to the people that live on life’s fringes and a tune that would’ve fit perfectly on Charlie Robison’s Life of the Party or Jack Ingram’s Hey You, two albums that directly led to the “Texas country” frenzy we know now. Granted, Baird (who was born and raised in Memphis before finding his way to Texas) isn’t necessarily breaking new topical ground; the well-worn subjects of love and love gone wrong provide the album’s thematic fodder. His mix of hooky country and rootsy rock is also familiar sonic territory — though it’s not all that often that one hears it handled with such finesse. Whereas many young artists fail to apply the proper proportions of ingredients, Baird gets the recipe just about perfect. On I Swear It’s the Truth, songs like “Along the Way,” “More than Willing,” and the closing “40 Days and 40 Nights” offer a pleasing balance, blending laid-back country melodies with up-tempo percussiveness pushing the tunes into an irresistible fist-pumping combination.
— KELLY DEARMORE |
JONI RAE JACK
|
Joni Rae Jack is not a 20-something starlet with aspirations of being the next big thing on the Texas or national country scene. She’s a hard-working mother of two who’s been singing semi-professionally for most of her life, from churches to country music conventions to dancehall gigs as a member of a South Texas group called the Border. That’s the Cliff’s Notes version of the breezy but refreshingly b.s.-free, first-person bio she has up on her website, and reading her story only enhances the already considerable charm and pluck of her self-titled debut. Jack is not really a songwriter (contributing only two originals to the album), but she’s an excellent country singer with the chops and sass to belt out high-energy contemporary honky-tonkers like “Guitar Pickin’ Man” and “Maybe You’ll Love the Way I Leave” with twice the oomph and conviction of a lot Nashville stars on mainstream radio. Hell, she even does a shockingly admirable job at selling John (Cougar) Mellencamp’s hoary old “Hurts So Good” as both fresh and fun. Some of the ballads, like “What Made You Think” (one of the two songs here she did co-write), lean pretty heavily into saccharine adult contemporary territory, but there’s a lot worse to be heard coming out of Nashville these days, and closer to her Texas home, not a whole lotta singers half as competent. — RICHARD SKANSE |
JESS KLEIN
|
Like tourists in search of the largest urban bat colony in the world, singer-songwriters in search of new beginnings and inspirations eventually find their way to Austin. When New York native and East Coast vagabond Jess Klein finally arrived in the Texas capital in 2008, she had already achieved considerable success in indie folk circles, with a debut (2000’s Draw Them Near) that earned the attention of USA Today and a song, “Strawberry Lover,” which the New York Daily News named “Sexiest Song” in 2005. But making it back there isn’t necessarily the same as making it where the Lone Star shines. And that’s what really matters now, right? Working with producer Mark Addison, Klein seems quite comfortable with where she is these days, both geographically and artistically. The move to the live music capital of Central Texas has taken her always introspective writing to new levels and her soulful voice to more personal and passionate places, as evidenced by the revelatory peak “Behind the Veil” she offers on her latest release. She pays homage to Austin’s lost artistic community of cottages and kindred souls on the lovely “Wilson Street Serenade,” where she’s joined by Noelle Hampton and Wendy Colonna. On “Tell Me This is Love,” a song that would have been called radio-friendly in another era, she eschews storybook romance for the real thing with a flirty and taunting “boy, if you believe in all this stuff, push a little harder and tell me this is love.” But the transcendent track here is “Riverview,” a deeply revealing memoir with Billy Masters’ surreal banjotar and Klein’s stark admission “I’m a mess, I’m a fool, I’m a seven-story wreck, but my love ain’t no lie, it’s just streaming out of check.” — D.C. BLOOM |
PAUL THORN
|
In Paul Thorn’s vision of hell, iPods play only Toby Keith. Fortunately, he lives a few flights up, where far more sublime — and even sacred — tunes exist. On this album, he chose to cover a dozen, lending his Tupelo-sweetened, rural-roughened voice to cherry picks from Buddy and Julie Miller, Lindsey Buckingham, Allen Toussaint, Rick Danko, Paul Rodgers and Free and a slew of others. On “Snake Farm,” Ray Wylie Hubbard’s down ’n’ dirty groove gets a workout by a guy who’s probably lived this reptilian tale. Bill Hinds’ wicked slide guitar details every slither in a version that, dare we say, smites the original? By the time the organ kicks in — and the rattle — it’s official. Elvin Bishop personally delivers more of the same on the title tune, his own composition. The McCrary Sisters, the busiest backing vocalists in Nashville, lend their pipes to various tracks, including the bluesy, soulful Foy Vance cut, “Shed A Little Light” and Eli “Paperboy” Reed’s “Take My Love With You,” lifted into full gospel raveup mode by Michael Graham’s honky-tonk piano. It’s almost hard to dell Thorn’s voice apart from Delbert McClinton’s on “Bull Mountain Bridge,” a too-fun track with a chorus, recorded during a Delbert cruise, featuring Kevin Welch, Delbert’s daughter Delaney and others known as Les Hillbillies des Pirates. Thorn’s never had a problem writing brilliant songs, but he cruises through these covers like they’re his own. We’ll take more whenever he’s ready. — LYNNE MARGOLIS |
SIX MARKET BLVD.
|
At the risk of downplaying Six Market Blvd.’s creative spark, they sound like they’ve got one hell of a record collection between them. There’s an admirable if restless gift at work here, sifting through them — no doubt with a slightly buzzed collective grin — and using their road-honed chops (the band has been a barnstorming presence in most of the state’s better small venues since the release of their 2010 debut, Running On Seven) to translate the elements of their influences into something fresh, vital and easy to dig. There’s a heavy dose of the melancholy cool of Ryan Adams’ more countrified efforts, and frontman Clayton Landau’s sweetly languid twang adds to that impression, but there’s also some strong strains of ’70s arena rock (the invigorating opener “Say It!” makes for a memorable shot-and-a-chaser sequence followed up with the brisk, Allman Brothers-esque “White Goose”), woozy cosmic-cowboy era balladry (bassist Ben Hussey’s “Santa Fe Train,” the lovely Tex-Mex waltz “The Painter”), even a couple of unabashed love songs (the jangly charmer “Stand” is among the album’s standout tracks, and “In the Name of Us” drifts into soft-rock territory, sax solo and all, without killing the vibe). There’s a tumbling fluency to Josh Serrato’s lead guitar playing that sounds good in just about any light the band chooses to cast it in, suitably smoking when the situation calls for it but artfully restrained when texture trumps pyrotechnics and the lyrics need room to breathe. The lyrics rarely dazzle as much as the delivery over the album’s 13-track sprawl, but they also steer clear of empty bluster or weary clichés. Now a band with two solid records under its belt, Six Market Blvd. does right by their influences then does them one better by making it all sound brand new. |
THE HOBART BROTHERS & LIL› SIS HOBART
|
An unlikely supergroup teaming three uncommonly gifted singer-songwriters, the pseudonymous Hobarts are melancholy pop miniaturist Freedy Johnston, earthy troubadour Jon Dee Graham and preteen popster turned rootsy adult songstress Susan Cowsill. The threesome’s inaugural collaboration is a deceptively casual-sounding set whose lived-in blue-collar character snapshots (reportedly inspired by the artists’ shared experiences working food-service day jobs) consistently strike a resonant emotional chord. |
THE MASTERSONS
|
The Mastersons — the band — are Eleanor Whitmore and Chris Masterson, a Brooklyn-based, Texas born-and-raised married couple of kids with a musical pedigree and mad skills to spare. When you’ve earned Steve Earle’s imprimatur as a duchess and duke, respectively, you’ve certainly got cred. She’s played fiddle for Kelly Willis and Regina Spektor. He’s toured with Son Volt. Respect must be paid. |
CHELLE ROSE
|
Now this woman can sing. And growl. And purr. And rock. Basically, Chelle Rose does everything a real live country ingénue is supposed to do. And it’s all on display on Ghost of Browder Holler. But if you’ve grown accustomed to today’s country served up by artists who hail from the other side of Mssrs. Mason and Dixon’s line and warble in affected Southern accents, Rose and that voice that drips sweet Tupelo honey on every syllable sung will be a much-needed shock to your system. |
GRANT PEEPLES
|
Grant Peeples is clearly a man of deeply held convictions ... and cojones. Both — or should that be “all three?” — are front and center on Prior Convictions, his third release and second produced by Gurf Morlix. Peeples sings his version of the truth with the deepest of conviction and that’s bound to rub some the wrong way. “So be it” seems to be the attitude of this late bloomer, who spent his first five-odd decades taking it all in and is now, fortunately for us, spitting it all out, with, well, honesty and conviction. You may not like where he’s coming from on the political spectrum, but candor and courage used to be something that garnered bi-partisan respect — in both politics and the music industry. It still should. Yes, it takes a pretty courageous fella to record a song entitled, ah, how to put this, “[N-word] Lover,” and employ it as an unapologetic confessional for his long standing left-leaning views — and compassion for fellow human beings — that seem to be increasingly out of sync in large red swatches of this great red, white and blue land of ours. |
ELIJAH FORD
|
Elijah Ford has made a good old-fashioned sideman’s record, but it’s so good he might not be a sideman for long. Upon Waking is Ford’s debut and it is produced by his dad, former Black Crowe Marc Ford, who has also produced a couple of records for Elijah’s boss, Ryan Bingham. Ford plays bass in Bingham’s band, but here he proves to be a multi-instrumentalist, quite a good songwriter and a more than serviceable singer. The album showcases young Ford in a variety of settings. “Surprise, Surprise” would be right at home on one of the good Ryan Adams records — until you get to the maniacal guitar duel between Ford and his dad at the end that takes it into the stratosphere. “Realistic” has a real Crowded House vibe, but again the guitar work elevates it to something quite unique. “Concerning Your Request” melds a beautiful McCartney-esque melody with a vitriolic set of lyrics adding some sour to the sweet, and the album-closing “Skeptik,” on which Ford plays everything, features a pre-Kid A Radiohead feel. All in all, Upon Waking is a most pleasant wakeup call announcing the arrival of a very talented up-and-comer. — GREG ELLIS
|
MATT HARLAN &
|
There’s something distinctly American about the sort of dusty, country-tinged folk that Matt Harlan makes, even if this time he had to go all the way to Sweden with a band from Denmark to make it. Perhaps because of Houston-native Harlan’s Texas roots – or, just as likely, because of the fact that down-to-earth melodies and dirt-road sonics aren’t the sole property of Texans, or Americans – the result isn’t eaten up with Euro-exotica, just unfailingly warm strains of steel, harmonica, and remarkably restrained electric guitar adorning Harlan’s subtle acoustic vibe as he sings of winsome philosophies and rustic romance. Boosted by time, confidence, and well-chosen collaboration (the frequent harmonies of Rachel Jones are among the invaluable assets here), Harlan shines brighter as a vocalist than on his worthy but even-more-subdued 2010 debut; if he occasionally gets mistaken for Walt Wilkins in range, tone, and timbre, he shouldn’t be surprised. He also shouldn’t be surprised if the title song or the quietly harrowing “The Ring” prove to be among the most enduring folk tunes of the year. And not just from Texas. Or America. — MIKE ETHAN MESSICK
|
