Category Archives: Rock

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“Old Sock” by Eric Clapton & “Electric” by Richard Thompson

Eric Clapton
Old Sock
Surfdog Records
1 star (out of 5)

Richard Thompson
Electric
New West Records
5 stars (out of 5)

By Aaron Keith Harris

Eric Clapton’s place as the godfather of rock guitarists is undisputed—of course because of his brilliant early work, but also because he seems like a nice guy who has outlived greater talents like Hendrix and Duane Allman—but as a solo artist his work has been erratic, reaching a new low with the fittingly—and frighteningly—named Old Sock. All of the adjectives it brings to mind apply to this 12-track, 53-minute set that nearly put me to sleep on a recent road trip.

There are only two new songs here—more about them later—and the remaining 10 are don’t seem to have been chosen for any other reason that the minimal effort they required. A folksy “Goodnight, Irene” and a syrupy “Born to Lose” (from Ray Charles’ country and western phase) would be bad enough, but tossing in three chestnuts from the so-called Great American Songbook in as well, all with shimmering strings and Roy Conniff-style backing vocals, is just painful, surpassing even the dreck that Rod Stewart has been shoveling for the last decade or so.

“Further on Down the Road” (Jesse Davis/Taj Mahal), “Till Your Well Runs Dry” (Peter Tosh), and “Your One and Only Man” (Otis Redding) sound like faux-reggae rejects from the 461 Ocean Boulevard sessions, while the late British blue guitarist Gary Moore’s “Still Got the Blues” is most assuredly devoid of any trace of the purported blues. A soft arrangement, a lazy vocal, and a brief guitar solo that could have been pieced together from three or four other solos from different songs just doesn’t cut it.

Neither of the new songs did Clapton write. “Gotta Get Over” almost comes to life, but not quite. It’s a decent song, with a decent vocal and lots of those familiar guitar fills that Clapton does better than anyone, but which have been done to death. The other original is “Every Little Thing,” which may have already wrapped up the award for worst track of 2013. Not only is it another of the faux-reggae lot, complete with a faux-Marley title, but its chorus halfway in assaults the listener with the worst sound that can be captured by a recording engineer: a children’s chorus. After this debacle, I’d be surprised if we ever got a good new track out of Clapton again.

However, the constant stream of great work from Richard Thompson continues. Electric was recorded in Nashville with Buddy Miller producing, with Thompson including, for the most part, just Taras Prodaniuk on bass, Michael Jerome on drums, and, occasionally, Siobhan Maher Kennedy on backing vocal. Without anything to hide behind, Thompson’s strengths as a singer, songwriter, and guitarist—both electric and acoustic—continue to amaze.

“Stony Ground,” “Sally B,” and especially “Stuck on the Treadmill” have the thump and heft of the sort of rock songs that aren’t getting made much these days: a cranky guy belting out pointed lyrics and driving the point home with guitar solos that sound like the gleam on a shiny new barbed-wire fence you glimpse as you’re about to hit it face-first after being thrown over the handlebars.

“Salford Sunday” and “Where’s Home?” have the folk tinge that Thompson’s work has had since his days with Fairport Convention, the latter featuring the incomparable Stuart Duncan on fiddle and some of the Buddy Miller sound that one might have expected on the rest of the disc. (I also wanted a Thompson/Miller guitar duel, but I guess Buddy knew better). “Straight and Narrow” is another rocker that Thompson does well—a grungy look at an unattainable, frustrating vamp—but I’ve never cared for the Farfisa organ sound.

Another Nashville luminary—Alison Krauss—lends her translucent voice to “The Snow Goose.” Though it’s only for a couple of slight passages, the two voices together are as as gorgeous as a summer sunset sliding through the clouds.

Thompson has always been able to write about the bitter and the sweet of mature relationships as well as anyone, and “Another Small Thing in Her Favour” and “Saving the Good Stuff for You” are two more that resonate more deeply than anything new I’ve heard lately.

“My Enemy” and “Good Things Happen to Bad People” are aptly situated near the middle of Electric, and they amount to 11 devastating minutes of haunting melody, harrowing guitar work, and a vocal/lyric meditation on self-hatred and contempt for the world that holds everyone to account. The effect is not quite cathartic, leaving the listener to deal with the scab that’s just been scraped off.

Electric is my frontrunner for this year’s best album, and it’s going to take something remarkable to change that.

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“The Road Has No End” by Monroe Crossing

Monroe Crossing
The Road Has No End
no label
3½ stars (out of 5)

By Larry Stephens

The role of the reviewer (in my opinion) is giving the reader and prospective buyer/listener clear and honest information about the music being reviewed. This includes explaining the biases of the reviewer—because we all have some.

This crossed my mind as I listened to Monroe Crossing. I don’t subscribe to the belief that a bluegrass song has to be about mother or the mountains, or that every bluegrass performer has to sprinkle their vernacular with “y’all” and “holler” (though I confess I do). We used to include an Eagles hit in our shows that sounds really great as a bluegrass number.

Monroe Crossing (and, yes, they are named after the father of bluegrass) gives us bluegrass with a modern sound. They hail from Minnesota, and you can hear that in their voices. It’s a different sound from all the bluegrass singers from the general area of the Mason-Dixon line and it may take a song or two to adjust your ears. They are excellent musicians and that is showcased in the lightning fast “Bullet Train,” composed by bandmates Lisa Fuglie (fiddle, mandolin and vocals) and Mark Anderson (bass and bass vocals). They know how to drive a song and this one has a familiar but still unusual topic: trains are often mentioned in bluegrass but not “high-speed, solar-powered, magnetically levitating” trains. Chances are you’ll be listening more to the flying fingers than pondering the meaning of the lyrics. Other band members are David Robinson (banjo), Derek Johnson (guitar, vocals), and Matt Thompson (mandolin, fiddle, vocals).

On the subject of trains, Jimmie Rodgers left his imprint on country and bluegrass music and many of his songs had train related themes. “Hobos In The Roundhouse” is a touching and true song about a man who trod a fine line between keeping his job and allowing hobos to sleep in his roundhouse on cold nights. This is what bluegrass probably does best—touch our hearts with stories of humanity.

They reached into the archives for a couple of songs. “Doin’ My Time” is a Jimmie Skinner/Flatt & Scruggs song they include as a tribute to Earl Scruggs while Hank Thompson’s “Foggy River” has been recorded dozens of times on both sides of the country/bluegrass divide. Unfortunately, their usually tight harmonies fall apart a bit on this number. “Last Letter Home” goes back a few decades, recorded by (among others) the Amazing Rhythm Aces and Sam Bush. This is a Civil War-themed song and you should listen to the lyrics.

Through the day I watched those southern boys go down

And they lay like Georgia peaches bruised and broken on the ground

Through the night I wondered was it worth the pain

And I cried not revenge, I called your name

“Rain Was Turning Into Snow” has a great melody as does “If The World Were Filled With You,” both songs about love. “Heavenly Table” is an engaging number about food from biscuits and gravy to okra. While the food may be standard fare on many tables (and I love hominy) it’s fun and offbeat as a song. Another number that shows a sense of humor is “Easy To Get Lost,” based on a remark made after listening to driving instructions that didn’t have the desired effect, “it’s easy to get lost when you don’t know where you’re going.” Who won’t appreciate that sentiment?

They also reach into the world of rock-’n'-roll with The Hollies’ “Long Cool Woman In a Black Dress.” They decided on a blazing fast approach while The Hollies were more deliberate. You can make a bluegrass connection though:

Saturday night I was downtown

Working for the FBI

Sitting in a nest of bad men

Whiskey bottles piling high

Bootlegging boozer on the west side

Full of people who are doing wrong

Just change “downtown” to “in the holler” and you’ve got a still and moonshiners.

Trains, love, booze and okra all mixed together with a banjo (there has to be something you can use them for)—that’s pretty good bluegrass.

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“1945″ by Brad Mackeson

Brad Mackeson

1945

BradMackeson.com

4 stars (out of 5)

By Donald Teplyske

By the time one arrives at track three of Brad Mackeson’s second album, a substantial journey has already occurred.

“They say love is for gamblers and broken hearted fools,” is the phrase that Mackeson has crafted to open this stunning sliver of perfection entitled “Love Is For Gamblers,” but it isn’t the only memorable statement that goes into this impressively written reflection—”My scenery may change, but I will never forget your name” and “Freely I give my love, you owe me no debt”—each verse contains additional poetic affirmation of his lover’s perfection.

Like the finest songs from Bruce Hornsby, Mackeson’s are full-bodied testimonials, gently revealed.

At 23 years, the Nashville-based songwriter from Portland, Oregon creates songs that he has no business being able to even relate to; his is an expansive view of his surroundings, with infatuation and obsession walking hand-in-hand with love and emotional devastation.

His voice, his phrasing is his own, although one can’t help but hear echoes of Dylan, Springsteen, and Petty within a spare couplet, a harmonica fill, or an extended syllable. “Thousand Drums” could be mistaken for a mind-expanding Mumford & Sons track, catchy and pristine. Thoroughly modern with roots that run through my middle-aged experiences, side one of this collection provides one of the most satisfying listens I’ve experienced in quite some time.

It is bold and complex, fuzzy and ripped with poignancy.

Flip to side two and things are entirely different, and no less acutely satisfying. The rest of the world drops away a bit here, and Mackeson appears more isolated and the music speaks to this altered reality.

“I’m too afraid to check my own reflection…what if I’m not who I want to be?” Mackeson challenges within “Gonna Be Fine;” like George Harrison and Harry Nilsson did for a previous generation—and I don’t know why they popped to mind, but they seem apt—Mackeson frequently creates complexity from simplicity. Side two is more free-wheeling than the first side, with added vocal effects that remind one of psychedelic-influenced performances heard on long ago, late-night radio. None of which interferes with the connection Mackeson has established with his audience.

Danny Schmidt. Joe Pug. Mark Erelli. Lee Harvey Osmond. John K. Sampson. Leeroy Stagger.

If those names are on your iPod, you had best add Brad Mackeson.

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“The Colored Pencil Factory” by Astrograss and “Blue Couds” by Elizabeth Mitchell & You Are My Flower

Astrograss
The Colored Pencil Factory
Foggy Borough Records
4 stars (out of 5)

Elizabeth Mitchell & You Are My Flower
Blue Clouds
Smithsonian Folkways Recordings
5 stars (out of 5)

By Aaron Keith Harris

I was made an uncle almost four years ago, and since then I have started thinking about music for children for the first time. The first question to ask is whether there should be any difference in music children listen to. I guess there has been literature and music for children as long as adults have had the disposable income and free time to make it—and it would make sense that some subject matter isn’t appropriate for certain ages—but should music for children sound any different? Do silly voices and jumpy tempos appeal to children more? Why do they make versions of already juvenile pop music sung by insipid choirs of children?

I would suspect that most of the worst music for children is simply marketed toward their parents with no thought to the children themselves, but, happily, two recent examples of good music made especially for children have reached me recently.

The first is from Brooklyn-based Astrograss, who bill themselves as “NYC’s premier bluegrass band for all ages.” The Colored Pencil Factory looks to be their third recording for children, and its 16 tracks and 49 minutes are a fun listen even for a curmudgeonly bachelor. Their musicianship is truly first rate, with Dennis Lichtman’s mandolin kickoff to “Hey Blue Dog” worthy of Monroe himself, Jonah Bruno’s banjo on “Playground” influenced by Monroe sideman Rudy Lyle’s famous “White House Blues,” and standards like “Sawing on the Strings,” “Shortenin’ Bread,” “Cluck Old Hen,” and “Sail Away Ladies” presented with great fiddling by Sarah Alden with pretty much the same attitude one would find on any old bluegrass or old-time record.

Alden trades vocal duties with Jordan Shapiro and Tim Kiah, one of whom has a voice that favorably compares to Darrell Scott’s, though from the liner notes I can’t tell which. Though they’re aiming for happy enthusiasm rather than subtle blends, their harmonies are usually quite good, and the lyrics on the original tunes assume far more intelligence on the part of children than most other stuff I’ve heard.

Elizabeth Mitchell’s Blue Clouds is just a bit better and is as good as I can imagine a children’s album getting. Mitchell and husband Daniel Littleton are part of the indie band Ida, and with daughter Storey, who looks to be about 12 now, mom and dad form the band You Are My Flower, who have now released seven albums for children.

Blue Clouds is gentle, quiet, and melodic, with Jay Ungar and Molly Mason contributing their talents, and Storey and a handful of other children singing backup. None of the vocals from adults or children here are hokey, with the effect that children who listen are drawn into a sound that has a deeper meaning than just having fun or getting silly.

Indeed, Bill Withers’ “I Wish You Well” is a song that will deeply touch both parents and children. Other musical giants are adapted here: David Bowie’s “Kooks” speaks to the virtues of being different, Jimi Hendrix’s tender “May this Be Love” is a showcase for Littleton’s gorgeous guitar playing, the Allman Brothers’ “Blue Sky” (with a “Little Martha” intro) is an acoustic version as beautiful as the electric original, and Van Morrison’s “Everyone” may be the best cover ever done of one of the grumpy Ulsterman’s  songs, with flute and children’s harmonies filling out the playfulness of the original.

Throw in some originals, a couple of American folk songs (“Hop Up, My Ladies” and “Froggie Went a-Courtin’”), songs from Korea (“San Toki (Mountain Bunny)”) and Japan (“Yuki (Snow)”), and the 13th-century English tune “Summer is Icumen In,” and you’ve got an incredibly well-laden pallet of music that this curmudgeonly bachelor has listened to a few times for no other reason than it’s a great record.

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“Daylight” by John Driskell Hopkins

John Driskell Hopkins
Daylight
Brighter Shade
4½ stars (out of 5)

By Larry Stephens

Hopkins has put together an excellent group of songs that fits somewhere in the acoustic country/indie/roots area.

Hopkins, a founding member of the Zac Brown Band (one of country music’s newer bands, making quite a splash on the country scene), makes no pretense of being a bluegrass singer. So, when making plans to record, Hopkins makes the obvious choice of Balsam Range (see their review) as his backup band.

Country rock meets bluegrass: it turned out to be a good match. Mix in some special guests and you have an appealing sound even if it may prove difficult to define a massive demographic for it.

Hopkins often has an eerie vocal resemblance to Mike Reid, a former pro football player turned Grammy winning songwriter (Ronnie Milsap’s “Stranger In My House”), pianist and singer whose solo career unfortunately went nowhere. (Reid co-wrote “I Can’t Make You Love Me” which was a hit for Bonnie Raitt.) “I Will Lay Me Down” (featuring Zac Brown) is an excellent example of the resemblance to Reid. But Hopkins can also turn out a growling, swamp-rock sound in songs like “Runaway Train,” featuring a bluesy resophonic kickoff by Jerry Douglas. He comes back with that same growl later in the CD, talking his way through “It’s Not Ok” while Balsam Range eats up the instrumental solos.

A song with a different persepctive on booze is “The Devil Lives In a Mason Jar” with guest performer and self-described turkey hypnotist, Richard Foulk.

The devil lives in a mason jar

His face is clear but his soul is dark …

The devil makes you ten feet tall

Swimming around in the ethanol

The song doesn’t leave much doubt about the perils of moonshine and has a mesmerizing beat that holds your attention. Hopkins can charm you with ballads, too, like “How Could I,” featuring his co-writer Levi Lowery on fiddle and vocals. This is a touching love song and such a change of pace from “Runaway Train.”

“Shady Bald Breakdown” is the CD’s instrumental and it’s a good ‘un. Balsam Range tears the strings off in this fast-paced blues number.

This CD is as much ballads as rocking country and the inclusion of Balsam Range’s (and guests’) acoustic backgrounds go well with the ballads. Tony Trischka is a guest on the title song, a reflective song about life. “Be My Girl” is a love song as is “Bye Baby Goodbye” (with guests Joey & Rory) except the latter is full of pain because he’s leaving on tour again (akin to IIIrd Tyme Out’s “Erase The Miles”).

Another change of pace is “DJ.” It’s philosophical about life with an engaging rhythm, jazzy with a touch of reggae. Hopkins is obviously comfortable with a wide range of styles and is able to carry off the changes. With “The Grass Don’t Get No Greener” he switches to a western swing sound, at least for awhile. I’ll just say the song has a surprising switch or two. Then there’s “She Don’t Love Me Today,” humorous and very much bluegrass with a ringing banjo throughout.

If you drew line graphs plotting the changes each song brings to a CD – tempo, subject, mood … – some CDs would flatline and the majority would show moderate spikes up and down. Daylight’s graph would look like the EKG of a person on speed, and every song is a good one. I hope Hopkins is already planning his next CD.

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“Who’s Feeling Young Now?” by Punch Brothers

Punch Brothers
Who’s Feeling Young Now?
Nonesuch Records
2 stars (out of 5)

By Aaron Keith Harris

When Nickel Creek disbanded, I was excited that Chris Thile, the greatest mandolin player in the history of the universe, would be free from trying to please the modern country market and let his talent and creativity take acoustic music fans places they had never been.

How to Grow a Woman from the Ground, his 2006 solo effort featuring three members of the current Punch Brothers lineup (Chris Eldredge on guitar, Noam Pikelny on banjo, and Gabe Witcher on fiddle), came the closest to fulfilling that potential, though Thile at times did stoop to doing a mawkish John Mayer impression.

Covers of Jack White’s “Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground” and the Strokes’ “Heart in a Cage” had an angry young man with Jaggeresque charisma pouring his heart out with impassioned, raw vocals and shredding mandolin lines. Covers of Gillian Welch’s “Wayside (Back in Time)” and Jimmie Rodgers’ “Brakeman’s Blues” had Thile and the band delivering well-known material with freshness and elan, while a couple of the instrumentals were both tuneful and intricate.

Sadly, on this, the third Punch Brothers effort, the emphasis is solely on the latter, with arrangements that simply make your head hurt as you try to stick with the time signatures and nimbly picked scales as they fly past or, more frequently, just lie there.

Exhibit A is “Kid A,” a perfectly played cover of an unlistenable instrumental track by the obnoxiously pretentious Radiohead. That a band as supremely talented as Thile’s would waste their talents and our time on such a soulless exercise is a waste.

The rest of the 11 tracks on this disc have promise, but none of them reach it. They’re full of jaw-dropping instrumental passages that never join up to go anywhere. The whole experience is like being seated next to a beautiful woman at a dinner party only to find out during the salad course that she’s incapable of talking about anything but herself.

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“Country Funk: 1969—1975″ by Various Artists

Various Artists 
Country Funk: 1969-1975 
Light in the Attic
4 stars (out of 5)

By Donald Teplyske

Before seeing advertising for this album, I’m not sure I had read the term “country funk” anywhere. I may have, but I don’t recall doing so. Country soul, yup. Country swamp. Memphis country. Delta country. I had heard of them all, but country funk is as good as any of them, I suppose. I knew what type of music would be on an album called Country Funk: 1969-1975: a bass throbbing, guitar-riff rich, sultry and lusty amalgam of reality, equal parts inner city blues and Chickasaw County kissin’-cousin country.

Larry Jon Wilson’s performance of “Ohoopee River Bottomland” in Heartworn Highways may have been my gateway into this music, but having spent 30-plus years listening to country, rock, and soul music, I was more than primed to fall under its spell. Following paths from Clarence Carter, Kate Campbell and Bobbie Gentry to Spooner Oldman, Charlie Rich and Tony Joe White, I’ve amassed a huge appreciation for music that combines the grittiness of real country with the effortlessness of thoughtful soul.

I resisted downloading Country Funk simply because I decided early on that this was an album that I wanted on vinyl. It just seemed to be appropriate to hear this album on a turntable. I’ve not ‘gone back’ to vinyl with the enthusiasm others may have for two simple reasons. One, I never completely left vinyl behind: it is tough for me to pass by a garage sale without looking for a box of records. I don’t know if vinyl sounds better than digital versions of music, but I know I appreciate it more and have recently lugged my twelve or thirteen boxes of records around the new basement more times than I should have. Secondly, regularly spending $25 or $30 for a vinyl album has never made sense to me. I have bought a half-dozen contemporary releases on vinyl—Mark Davis’ Eliminate the Toxins and the Del McCoury Band’s Bill Monroe tribute immediately come to mind—but it is still a special occasion when I buy new vinyl.

Based on my experiences with the Karen Dalton and Kris Kristofferson packages of a few years back and their more recent Louvin Brothers album, I knew Light in the Attic releases were well done. It therefore made sense to me that I would lay down $24.99 plus tax for this rather concise examination of a music I’ve felt a kinship toward.

Before we get to the music contained on this two-album set, a word about the package. Gatefold sleeve with an illustration that absolutely does justice to the 12×12 format; Jess Rotter’s line drawings and colours work beautifully to set the scene for these (mostly) early ‘70s recordings. Jessica Hundley’s notes provide some context, most importantly pointing out that no one was setting out to make music within a genre: people were just making music. She highlights Bobby Darin’s place within the compilation, and uncovers insights from artists including Dennis Caldirola, Dick Monda, Jr., and Tony Joe White. I would have liked more information about Larry Jon Wilson, Bobbie Gentry (whose name Hundley misspells as Bobby), Johnny Adams, and especially Gritz and Jim Ford, but what is contained provides a starting place.

The music is ’bout what you would expect. Album cuts and singles from various labels. Sixteen tracks, from the familiar and readily available (Jim Ford’s “I Wanta Make Her Love Me,” Tony Joe White’s “Studspider,” and Bobby Charles’ “Street People”) to entirely new, to me at least. Dale Hawkins, who I only know from “Susie Q,” gets things started with the shout-out “L.A. Memphis Tyler Texas.” Choice cuts include Johnny Adams’ brilliant “Georgia Morning Dew” and Link Wray’s “Fire and Brimstone,” a track that reveals more in four minutes than every version of “Rumble” I’ve ever heard. While Cherokee’s “Funky Business” doesn’t really go anywhere, it is a cool little tune, and I wouldn’t mind hearing more from them.

An album project such as this one should introduce listeners to under-appreciated artists, and this set does that through the music of Gray Fox (Dick Monda, Jr.), Dennis the Fox (Dennis Caldirola), Gritz, and John Randolph Marr. Caldirola’s “Piledriver” captures the drive-in movie sensibilities that I recall from the early to mid-seveneties, and yes, I went to a lot of drive-in movies with elder siblings and cousins in those days: the song doesn’t really come together into a coherent song, but seems ideal as written for a trucking exploitation movie that was never made: I can see Susan George as the “mean, mothertrucker of a girl.”

Like “Piledriver,” some of these songs have novelty appeal. Others, like Larry Jon Wilson’s “Ohoopee River Bottomland” and Johhny Jenkins’ “I Walk on Gilded Splinters” are timeless. The Bobbie Gentry track, “He Made a Woman Out of Me” was the second most successful single off her Fancy album, but never came close to the country top 40 and isn’t likely to be heard on classic country radio. Its sophisticated arrangement seems at odds with ‘country funk,’ but her voice and what sounds like an amazing band pull off this “Strawberry Wine” forerunner; I would love to know who was playing on this- and every- track, but no session notes are provided.

The biggest surprise on the album for me was the inclusion of Mac Davis, who I am only familiar with from a couple country hits and as a guest star on various 70s and 80s variety shows and movies. “Lucas Was a Redneck” is culled from Davis’ most successful album Stop and Smell the Roses, and is a killer track. Here, singing unsympathetically of a Tupelo boy born “one half stupid, the other half dumb,” Davis sounds a little like Larry Jon Wilson. This scathing indictment of southern bigotry and self-limiting behavior makes me want to investigate a singer I’ve never given more than a passing thought toward.

I was very satisfied with my purchase of Country Funk: 1969- 1975 on vinyl. I will enjoy listening to the album several more times and I know I’ll be sent on wild journeys as I seek out the music from most of the included acts. As mentioned, information about the backing musicians would have been appreciated, and I was especially disappointed that a download code wasn’t included with the album, a feature that I mistakenly believed was a ‘given’ with modern vinyl releases as I’ve received one with every other recently purchased vinyl package.

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“Follow Me Down” by Sarah Jarosz

Sarah Jarosz
Follow Me Down
Sugar Hill Records
5 stars (out of 5)

By Aaron Keith Harris

Listening to this 20-year-old Texan’s second album, it’s hard to believe she isn’t a bigger star. She’s gorgeous, a multi-instrumentalist (mainly mandolin, guitar and different styles of banjo here) and possesses a voice that moves comfortably through higher registers while maintaining a rich beauty at moderate pitches.

And she can write, having a hand in nine of the 11 compositions here, with one of those being a “cowrite” with none other than Edgar Allan Poe on “Annabelle Lee,” on which her clawhammer twines with Stuart Duncan’s fiddle to evoke just the mood the late Bard of Baltimore was aiming for. The other two songs are by Bob Dylan—she, Jerry Douglas and Vince Gill make the apocalypse sound inviting on “Ring Them Bells”— and Radiohead—she renders “The Tourist” intelligible and evocative with help from the Punch Brothers.

Jarosz’s own creations do not pale in comparison. “Come Around” is perfect progressive bluegrass, with Jarosz laying a groove on octave mandolin that enables Bela Fleck’s banjo to double the gentle insistence of the lyric.”Run Away,” which opens the 40-minute disc, is well chosen: it signals that, in spite of the rustic setting, there is something much more many-layered going on here.

Co-producing with Gary Paczosa, Jarosz has given Follow’s aural texture the same supple warmth inherent in her material and performance. This is one of the best releases of any genre this year.

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“Catch 23″ by the 23 String Band

The 23 String Band
Catch 23
No label
4 stars (out of 5)

By Donald Teplyske

On his very strong new album, Junior Sisk sings, “A Far Cry from Lester and Earl” and I suspect that outfits like The 23 String Band would be among those feeling his wrath for drifting too far from Carter, Ralph, and “the love of a sweet mountain girl.” Recent online treatises from Chris Pandolfi and Travers Chandler, reasoned as they are, provide further fuel to a misinterpreted belief that bluegrass must evolve away from itself to survive.

The 23 String Band would most likely find themselves agreeing with those on all sides of the big tent, and would encourage those seeking shelter there to stop talking (and writing) and get pickin’.

Like Joy Kills Sorrow, the Steeldrivers, and the Infamous Stringdusters, the 23 String Band doesn’t seem to much care about labels and genre constructs. Rather, their focus is on making music that seems to aggressively poke at the very core of bluegrass before revealing itself to have as much in common with the sound as it does stylistically and atmospherically with popular bluegrass-based acoustiblue bands, the ones that get lumped into the “jam band” category.

None of which would matter if the music didn’t hold up to repeated listening. Fortunately, with their sophomore album—and I’ll be buying that first album first chance I get—this Kentucky-based group has produced an album that entertains while it challenges.

Singing with bleeding-throat intensity softened by an awareness of bluegrass precision, Chris Shouse is the most obvious place to start when examining the 23 String Band’s sound. Always in control, in spots (“Fat Frankie”) Shouse pushes his voice while elsewhere—“Leave Everything to Me,” for example—he gently swings with an old-timey ease; apt comparisons might be Ketch Secor (Old Crow Medicine Show) and Chris Robinson (Black Crowes).

From first listen, T. Martin Stam’s bass and Scott Moore’s fiddle provide a depth of texture that one isn’t accustomed to encountering on relatively unheralded acoustic Americana releases. Mountain Blues indeed is the term that comes to mind listening to tunes such as “Fat Frankie,” “Hey Pretty Mama,” and the title track, an extended instrumental.

Everyone in the band receives vocal credit although Shouse takes all the leads. Dave Howard (mandolin) and Curtis Wilson (banjo) more than round-out the band’s full-frontal aural attack. John Hartford’s “Long Hot Summer Days” is just one of the songs providing ample evidence of Howard’s and Wilson’s talents: the mid-song instrumental interlude is almost trance-inducing.

With most of the eleven tunes being original, the traditions of the music are further explored through choice covers. “Cripple Creek” and “Raleigh & Spencer” are taken for rides. The obligatory rock n’ roll cred-check is provided with a more than satisfactory reading of Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers’ “Listen to Her Heart.” Why do I always think of Lucinda Williams when I hear that song?

With so much music coming our way, it is often difficult for an album or band to distinguish themselves from the pile. With an affable quality of performance, The 23 String Band has solved their self-defined Catch 23.

Recommended for fans of Chatham County Line, The Earl Brothers, and Acoustic Syndicate, Catch 23 presents an impressive cohesiveness of style that bodes well for the future of the 23 String Band.

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“Wood and Stone” by Tara Nevins

Tara Nevins
Wood and Stone
Sugar Hill Records
4 stars (out of 5)

A founding member of Americana mainstays Donna the Buffalo, Tara Nevins has delivered her second solo album more than a decade after her first, Mule to Ride (1999). Both her songwriting and her voice are inviting enough, but bringing Larry Campbell on board as producer elevates this 13-track, 44-minute album. Campbell, multi-instrumental sideman for Bob Dylan and producer of Levon Helm’s Dirt Farmer and Electric Dirt, brings just enough crunch into the mix to make it tastier than the average Americana singer-songwriter release.

The title track has one of the catchiest grooves I’ve heard in a while, while Nevins’ fiddle slipping in over Campbell’s driving guitar lines as she sings about dirt lanes, maple trees, grandma’s applesauce and other touchstones that make up “the better part of me.”

When Campbell’s lead guitar is not featured, his pedal steel often is, again working with Nevins’ fiddle on nicely built songs that are equal parts modern Americana and classic country, tunes like the Cajun-flavored “All I Ever Needed,” the good-natured put-down “You’re Still Driving That Truck,” and the gospel-tinged cheatin’ song “The Wrong Side.” “Who Would You Tell” and “Snowbird” start out with more primitive arrangements before working up to the full-band sound, while “What Money Cannot Buy” stays in a rustic fiddle groove and features Nevins’ vocals at their most sensitive. Nevins also reaches down to her roots with “Nothing Really,” an original old-time fiddle tune, and “Down South Blues,” a party number.

Two surprises on the album are “Stars Fell on Alabama,” in which Nevins turns the ‘30s jazz standard into a bleak, gothic soundscape, and “Tennessee River,” an even more desolate turn recalling the best of Lucinda Williams. The album closes on a suitably grand nostalgic note with a yearning take on Van Morrison’s “Beauty of Days Gone By” aided by the characteristically expressive drumming of guest Levon Helm.