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Pop - Verschenen op 5 februari 2008 | Lost Highway Records

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Shelby Lynne has followed her own sometimes reckless, always adventuresome muse throughout her career. Just a Little Lovin' is her personal homage to the late, legendary Dusty Springfield. Nine of its ten cuts are inextricably linked to the late British vocalist whose sway Lynne came under years ago, but a chance conversation with Barry Manilow -- of all people -- led to the making of this record. Lynne doesn't attempt to sound like Springfield. She uses her own phrasing and rhythmic sensibility. Four cuts here come from the Dusty in Memphis period, as well as the title track to The Look of Love and some of her mid-'60s British hits that were not released in America. All these songs, with the exception of the self-penned "Pretend," were recorded by Springfield. The album was recorded in the Capitol Records studio with Frank Sinatra's microphone and producer Phil Ramone. Lynne's aesthetic sense serves her well: most singers automatically shoot for "Son of a Preacher Man," but Lynne steers clear. She does, however, tackle some truly monolithic Springfield hits: "Just a Little Lovin'," "Breakfast in Bed," "Willie and Laura Mae Jones," and "I Don't Want to Hear It Anymore." Lynne's readings are close, intimate. They're understated but more direct. Ramone used a small quartet in guitarist Dean Parks, keyboardist Rob Mathes, drummer Gregg Field, and bassist Kevin Axt to give her that edge. Lynne's delivery takes these songs straight to the listener's belly. The taut but easy sensuality in her voice adds a very different dimension to them. When she gets to the in-the-pocket feel of "Breakfast in Bed," she comes at the tune's subject with an up-front sexual expression -- Springfield's trademark vulnerability is willfully absent. A Rhodes and Parks' guitar give her plenty of room to pour out the lyric. "Willie and Laura Mae Jones" has a rough, swampy earthiness; Lynne adds her guitar to its sparse, slow growl. Springfield recorded this tome about interracial love when the subject was taboo in America. She made it palatable with her innocent delivery. Lynne gets at Tony Joe White's lyric with a bluesy toughness expressing incredulity toward injustice. Randy Newman's "I Don't Want to Hear It Anymore" carries inside it the trace of both Lynne's Southern homeland and her adopted West Coast residency. She can tell this heartbreaking tale as if it were her own while uncannily recalling Springfield's empathy. Signature Springfield pieces such as "I Only Want to Be with You" are astonishing for their contrast. The bubbly, poppy original version is slowed here; it offers the impression of genuine surprise by an unsuspecting protagonist. The jazzy piano and Parks' lush guitar lines entwine perfectly. Springfield's version of "The Look of Love" has remained unchallenged for more than 40 years. Lynne doesn't even try. Instead she offers tribute. It's not as sultry as the original was, but feels honest and hungry in stripping off the lyric's mask with her voice. "How Can I Be Sure" by the Rascals -- cut as a British-only single by Springfield -- is startling: Lynne sings it accompanied only by Parks' guitar. It's a radical but fitting closer. Just a Little Lovin' is the finest tribute Springfield has ever received on tape. That such a fine singer and songwriter interpreted her in such an empathic and sophisticated manner is respect personified. Ramone's care with the project is, as usual, celebratory. The multidimensional persona Lynne usually displays on her records is still here in spades. Her diversity, confidence, and wide-ranging ability are the standard to aspire to. © Thom Jurek /TiVo
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Pop - Verschenen op 5 februari 2008 | Lost Highway Records

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Shelby Lynne has followed her own sometimes reckless, always adventuresome muse throughout her career. Just a Little Lovin' is her personal homage to the late, legendary Dusty Springfield. Nine of its ten cuts are inextricably linked to the late British vocalist whose sway Lynne came under years ago, but a chance conversation with Barry Manilow -- of all people -- led to the making of this record. Lynne doesn't attempt to sound like Springfield. She uses her own phrasing and rhythmic sensibility. Four cuts here come from the Dusty in Memphis period, as well as the title track to The Look of Love and some of her mid-'60s British hits that were not released in America. All these songs, with the exception of the self-penned "Pretend," were recorded by Springfield. The album was recorded in the Capitol Records studio with Frank Sinatra's microphone and producer Phil Ramone. Lynne's aesthetic sense serves her well: most singers automatically shoot for "Son of a Preacher Man," but Lynne steers clear. She does, however, tackle some truly monolithic Springfield hits: "Just a Little Lovin'," "Breakfast in Bed," "Willie and Laura Mae Jones," and "I Don't Want to Hear It Anymore." Lynne's readings are close, intimate. They're understated but more direct. Ramone used a small quartet in guitarist Dean Parks, keyboardist Rob Mathes, drummer Gregg Field, and bassist Kevin Axt to give her that edge. Lynne's delivery takes these songs straight to the listener's belly. The taut but easy sensuality in her voice adds a very different dimension to them. When she gets to the in-the-pocket feel of "Breakfast in Bed," she comes at the tune's subject with an up-front sexual expression -- Springfield's trademark vulnerability is willfully absent. A Rhodes and Parks' guitar give her plenty of room to pour out the lyric. "Willie and Laura Mae Jones" has a rough, swampy earthiness; Lynne adds her guitar to its sparse, slow growl. Springfield recorded this tome about interracial love when the subject was taboo in America. She made it palatable with her innocent delivery. Lynne gets at Tony Joe White's lyric with a bluesy toughness expressing incredulity toward injustice. Randy Newman's "I Don't Want to Hear It Anymore" carries inside it the trace of both Lynne's Southern homeland and her adopted West Coast residency. She can tell this heartbreaking tale as if it were her own while uncannily recalling Springfield's empathy. Signature Springfield pieces such as "I Only Want to Be with You" are astonishing for their contrast. The bubbly, poppy original version is slowed here; it offers the impression of genuine surprise by an unsuspecting protagonist. The jazzy piano and Parks' lush guitar lines entwine perfectly. Springfield's version of "The Look of Love" has remained unchallenged for more than 40 years. Lynne doesn't even try. Instead she offers tribute. It's not as sultry as the original was, but feels honest and hungry in stripping off the lyric's mask with her voice. "How Can I Be Sure" by the Rascals -- cut as a British-only single by Springfield -- is startling: Lynne sings it accompanied only by Parks' guitar. It's a radical but fitting closer. Just a Little Lovin' is the finest tribute Springfield has ever received on tape. That such a fine singer and songwriter interpreted her in such an empathic and sophisticated manner is respect personified. Ramone's care with the project is, as usual, celebratory. The multidimensional persona Lynne usually displays on her records is still here in spades. Her diversity, confidence, and wide-ranging ability are the standard to aspire to. © Thom Jurek /TiVo
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Country - Verschenen op 1 januari 2011 | Lost Highway Records

Gezegend zij het tiende studioaanbod van Lucinda Williams. Het album was geproduceerd door Don Was met coproductie van Eric Liljestrand en Tom Overby; die laatste twee produceerden ook Little Honey (2008). Net als zijn voorganger, staat ook deze boordevol gastoptredens, waaronder de terugkeer van Matthew Sweet, Elvis Costello (die een vuige sologitaar speelt op de vijfde track “Seeing Black,” geschreven ter ere van wijlen Vic Chesnutt) verschijnt op een handvol nummers, naast Rami Jaffee en Greg Leisz. De deluxe editie van het album – zowel in fysieke (CD en LP) als digitale vorm – komt met een bonusdisc getiteld The Kitchen Tapes, met daarop de originele rauwe demo’s die Williams opnam aan haar keukentafel. © TiVo
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Country - Verschenen op 29 augustus 2011 | Lost Highway Records

Sometimes you need to go back to the beginning to remember where you came from. Robert Earl Keen has obviously taken a long, hard look at the music he's been making since 1997's Picnic, the album that put him on the map commercially and made him a superstar in Texas. Keen's records after 1994's Gringo Honeymoon have, no matter how commercially successful and stylistically and sonically imaginative, lacked the focus of his earlier ones. Ready for Confetti, despite its title, is the most natural-sounding, poetic Keen album since 1994. That doesn't mean he's gotten pretentious; nor that he's lost his sense of humor. There is precious little here that's extra; the writing reflects a steely eye for detail, arresting images, hooky melodies, and incisive vision; and, produced by Lloyd Maines, it contains an exquisite sense of balance. "Black Baldy Stallion" begins with Rich Brotherton's nylon-string guitar playing classical and flamenco motifs. Keen introduces his lonesome, bittersweet melody backed by an instantly memorable chorus. This song feels like it could have been included on 1993's Bigger Piece of Sky. Keen actually revisits that album by re-recording "Paint the Town Beige." While it doesn't replace the earlier version, it underscores its meaning from a place of wisdom, with Maines' pedal steel, and organic percussion coloring a slower tempo. The title track employs synthetic beats playing Caribbean rhythms, a perfect, saucy accompaniment to a nearly journalistic narrative on life's ironies. Country-blues and knee slaps fuel the darkly "I Gotta Go," with killer resonator guitar from Maines. "Lay Down My Brother" begins like it's coming out of a scratchy 78 before shifting into an elegiac country song. "The Road Goes on and on and On" is a scathing indictment disguised as a country shuffle, while "Waves on the Ocean," written with Dean Dillon, is a wedding of Texas country and reggae that works. The cover of Todd Snider's "Train Song" is deep enough to actually replace the original. The set closes with William M. Golden's "Soul of Man." Sometimes Keen performs it live sans microphone. Maines' convinced him to record it, and his restrained production, populated by bass, banjos, accordion, mandolins, guitars, and staggered, chorus-like backing voices, shimmers under Keen's grainy baritone delivery, sending the album off with a reverent whisper. Ready for Confetti is, without question, Keen's most inspired and focused project in nearly 20 years. © Thom Jurek /TiVo
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Country - Verschenen op 1 januari 2011 | Lost Highway Records

Gezegend zij het tiende studioaanbod van Lucinda Williams. Het album was geproduceerd door Don Was met coproductie van Eric Liljestrand en Tom Overby; die laatste twee produceerden ook Little Honey (2008). Net als zijn voorganger, staat ook deze boordevol gastoptredens, waaronder de terugkeer van Matthew Sweet, Elvis Costello (die een vuige sologitaar speelt op de vijfde track “Seeing Black,” geschreven ter ere van wijlen Vic Chesnutt) verschijnt op een handvol nummers, naast Rami Jaffee en Greg Leisz. De deluxe editie van het album – zowel in fysieke (CD en LP) als digitale vorm – komt met een bonusdisc getiteld The Kitchen Tapes, met daarop de originele rauwe demo’s die Williams opnam aan haar keukentafel. © TiVo
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Rock - Verschenen op 14 maart 2011 | Lost Highway Records

On their Lost Highway debut, Tell 'Em What Your Name Is!, Black Joe Lewis & the Honeybears did everything right. A standard rock quartet with an eight-piece horn section, they offered a high-energy meld of retro-soul, funk, and R&B that recalled variously the early J. Geils Band, James Brown, Wilson Pickett, and Otis Redding with a Stax/Volt-influenced rhythm section. On Scandalous, Lewis and producer Jim Eno scraped the band's sound even further; right into the grain of rhythm & blues-based music. There are only four horns this time, bringing the groove as close to live as you can get. There is also more focus on Lewis' and Zach Ernest's nasty, gritty guitars and the absolutely throbbing basslines of Bill Stevenson. Check their sweaty workout amid the horns and chants in "Booty City," and the homage to real life Nevada brothel, "Mustang Ranch." Both are dance tunes, and both rely on a double dirty-ass guitar attack to do battle with the horns for dominance. Matthew Strimska's drums shuffle and shake, cracking with taut rimshot breaks to accent the rowdy, orgiastic grooves. "Living in the Jungle" is tough, naked, horn-blasting, primitive funk with great axe fills by Lewis, who is shouting his best James Brown tempered by the soulful eros of Joe Tex. Further, the band relies more on electric Delta blues this time out. The pedal-to-the-medal funk-blues of "You Been Lyin' has Lewis and band backed by progressive gospel group the Relatives. It's 12 bars, but the I-IV-V is stretched to the breaking point with tight arpeggio horn charts and multi-part vocal harmonies as the guitars rattle venomously. "Ballad of Jimmy Tanks" begins as a Stax-styled soul workout, then crashes directly into sweaty R.L. Burnside-esque grind-it-out blues. Ivory Joe Hunter's "Since I Met You Baby" is utterly raw, its guitars knife-edge tinny, with bass and B-3 bleeding over them. But a quirky, mariachi-cum-soul horn arrangement sends it into the stratosphere. Lewis is pleading at the limit of his range; his voice cracking in all the right spots. It's one of the band's finest recorded moments. The closer pays tribute to Burnside's lusty running mate, Junior Kimbrough, with its darkly sexual hypnotic groove. Its title? "Jesus Took My Hand." In a word, Scandalous most certainly is; it's a party record that bleeds Saturday night into Sunday morning and beyond. © Thom Jurek /TiVo
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Rock - Verschenen op 3 mei 2005 | Lost Highway Records

Last time we received a dispatch from Ryan Adams, the self-styled savior of rock & roll, it was in 2003, when he delivered his straight-up rock & roll record (aptly titled Rock N Roll) and his two-part mope-rock EP (later combined as one LP) Love Is Hell. Admirable records both, but not quite the sequel to Heartbreaker that fans craved. They also weren't quite as successful as all the hype surrounding their release suggested that they would be, so Adams briefly retreated from the spotlight to regroup, heading back in 2005 with a planned triptych of new albums, the first of which is the double-album Cold Roses, recorded with his new backing band the Cardinals and released at the beginning of May. Three albums in one year is overkill even for an artist predisposed to releasing his every whim, and while it's too early at this writing to judge whether he needed to release all three of the records, it's safe to say that Cold Roses is the record many fans have been waiting to hear -- a full-fledged, unapologetic return to the country-rock that made his reputation when he led Whiskeytown. Not that the album is a retreat, or a crass attempt to give the people what they want, but it's an assured, comfortable collection of 18 songs that play to Adams' strengths because they capture him not trying quite so hard. He settles into a warm, burnished, countryish groove not far removed from vintage Harvest-era Neil Young at the beginning and keeps it going over the course of a double-disc set that isn't all that long. With the first disc clocking in at 39:39 and the second at 36:29, this could easily have been released as a single-disc set, but splitting it into two and packaging it as a mock-gatefold LP is classic Ryan Adams, highlighting both his flair for rock classicism and his tendency to come across slightly affected. As always, he's so obsessive about fitting into classic rock's long lineage that he can be slightly embarrassing -- particularly on the intro to "Beautiful Sorta," which apes David Johansen's intro to the New York Dolls' "Looking for a Kiss" in a way that guarantees a cringe -- which is also a problem when he drifts toward lazy, profanity-riddled lyrics ("this sh*t just f*cks you up" on "Cherry Lane") that undercut a generally strong set of writing. But what makes Cold Roses a success, his first genuine one since Heartbreaker, is that it is a genuine band album, with the Cardinals not only getting co-writing credits but helping Adams relax and let the music flow naturally. It's not the sound of somebody striving to save rock & roll, or even to be important, but that's precisely why this is the easiest Ryan Adams to enjoy. The coming months with their coming LPs will reveal whether this is indeed a shift in his point of view, or just a brief break from his trademark blustering braggadocio. © Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo
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Country - Verschenen op 15 februari 2011 | Lost Highway Records

Booklet
If it weren't already apparent that the Texas singer/songwriter archetype had become an established subgenre of country music, a listen to Hayes Carll's fourth album, KMAG YOYO (& Other American Stories) ought to confirm it. Carll, a 34-year-old Texas native, plays in honky tonk, country-rock, and country-folk styles so familiar that it's often possible to sing older songs to the music he and his band perform, whether it's the Hank Williams-style "Hard Out Here" or the title song (a military acronym for "Kiss My Ass Guys, You're on Your Own"), set to the tune and headlong tempo of Bob Dylan's "Subterranean Homesick Blues." Of course, Carll sings in a wheezy country twang, and his lyrics suggest the barstool wit of an engaging loser. Since he has no interest in doing anything new or different with the musical style, the question is, how well does he function within the tradition of, say, Guy Clark and Townes Van Zandt and Jerry Jeff Walker? And the answer is, often quite well. "KMAG YOYO" itself is sung in the voice of a contemporary teenage G.I. trying to make his way through the Afghanistan morass any way he can; "Another Like You," a duet with Cary Ann Hearst, finds clever ways to set up an opposites-attract one-night stand; "Bottle in My Hand" hauls in a couple of Carll's peers in Corb Lund and Todd Snider to further investigate honky tonk issues; and "Grateful for Christmas" is an affectionate and amusing spoken word take on a family holiday gathering. These are the album's best songs, but the rest are good, too, and the whole is a worthy addition to the ever-growing catalog of sly Texas country-rock. © William Ruhlmann /TiVo
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Rock - Verschenen op 1 januari 2011 | Lost Highway Records

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Rock - Verschenen op 24 augustus 2004 | Lost Highway Records

With oodles of critical praise but disappointing commercial response, Tift Merritt's terrific 2002 debut was a qualified success. On her follow-up two years later, she gradually but decidedly moves her ringing country rock toward a more classic soul sound. With producer George Drakoulias -- who mined similar territory with Maria McKee -- providing the musical muscle, the album is an impressive accomplishment. Merritt sure has the pipes for this stirring soul/Americana music. She sings with an aching acquiescence common to country artists such as Emmylou Harris and Dolly Parton, but belts out these tunes with the power of Linda Ronstadt in her prime. Drakoulias wisely places her tough yet tender vocals front and center in the mix, leaving her faceless but competent backup musicians to carry the bluesy twang she has perfected here. Dusty Springfield and McKee have both covered this ground, but on Memphis soul shots like "Good Hearted Man" and especially "Your Love Made a U Turn" with full, blaring horns and R&B backing vocals, the effect is explosive and revelatory. "Ain't Looking Closely" takes its ringing guitar straight from Roger McGuinn's Byrds days, but the meaty approach and chorus is strictly Southern. The blues that infuses "Still Pretending" adds a torchy Dwight Yoakam/George Jones approach with Merritt projecting hurt resignation on top of subtle strings and a classic country sound out of the '60s. "The Plainest Thing" strips down the backing to bare organ, brushed drums, and spare guitar, leaving plenty of room for Merritt's luxurious voice. But it's the more upbeat tracks that rule, as Merritt and Drakoulias' firm control and extraordinary sense of dynamics shoot this album into orbit. Tambourine is a remarkably mature, confident, and commanding release that defines then rides its groove with no low points. It should make Merritt the star she deserves to be. © Hal Horowitz /TiVo
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Country - Verschenen op 1 januari 2011 | Lost Highway Records

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Country - Verschenen op 1 januari 2011 | Lost Highway Records

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Country - Verschenen op 1 januari 2011 | Lost Highway Records

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Country - Verschenen op 1 januari 2011 | Lost Highway Records

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Country - Verschenen op 1 januari 2011 | Lost Highway Records

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Country - Verschenen op 1 januari 2011 | Lost Highway Records

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Rock - Verschenen op 30 augustus 2010 | Lost Highway Records

On his third album, songwriter Ryan Bingham reveals both confidence and growth. His previous recordings showed promise but were marred by youthful excesses. Bingham won an Oscar for "The Weary Kind," the theme song from the film Crazy Heart. The song was produced by T-Bone Burnett, creating a partnership extended on Junky Star. Bingham and his Dead Horses -- drummer Matthew Smith, bassist Elijah Ford, and guitarist Corby Schaub -- create a sound planted deeply in folk, country, blues, and roots rock. These lyrically direct songs reflect lost, desperate, displaced individuals, all dreaming the same dark dream and all growing tenser with the times -- and some fall over the edge. Bingham has trimmed his songwriting to the bone, while learning to use metaphor and metonymy with a reportorial eye for detail, allowing the power in his words to speak for themselves. He begins articulating his sandblasted vision of America with "The Poet." Amid acoustic guitars, a lonesome harmonica, restrained electric, and bass drum, Bingham's whiskey-soaked vocal articulates a theme the entire album turns on: "As I keep walking, people keep talking/About things they've never seen or done/Homeless sleep in the park, lovers kiss in the dark/Me, myself I keep moving on through town...the poet in the back writes down his songs in blood." Time is suspended as Bingham's road-worn protagonists tell their hardscrabble stories, past and present, physically and psychologically; sometimes their journeys reach tragic ends. In "The Wandering," countrified rock expresses rootlessness as peace of mind, but one wonders if the seeming protagonist isn't just whistling past the graveyard. "Strange Feelin' in the Air," "Junky Star" (one of several murder ballads), and the explosively rockist "Depression" contradict that view: constant movement seems the key to survival, not contentment. "Hallelujah" is a first-person murder ballad from the victim's point of view that is as utterly moving as it is bone-chilling. "Lay My Head on the Rail" is folk poetry. The lyric blues in "Hard Worn Trail" are rooted in poverty, stress, and broken relationships, searching relentlessly for comfort that doesn't arrive. Even the rowdy outlaw country closer, "All Choked Up Again," mines the existential darkness deeper. Bingham is unflinching, his delivery is collected; even when singing passionately he reserves judgment, leaving room for a glimmer on the horizon, but he doesn't expect it. Musically and lyrically rooted in the Americana of the South and West, Junky Star does offer consolation, however: in these 12 songs, desperation is a shared language disseminated by the storyteller; no one need be left alone in it. Bingham mirrors our era in new legends and myths, without distorting or romanticizing it. © Thom Jurek /TiVo
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Country - Verschenen op 15 februari 2011 | Lost Highway Records

If it weren't already apparent that the Texas singer/songwriter archetype had become an established subgenre of country music, a listen to Hayes Carll's fourth album, KMAG YOYO (& Other American Stories) ought to confirm it. Carll, a 34-year-old Texas native, plays in honky tonk, country-rock, and country-folk styles so familiar that it's often possible to sing older songs to the music he and his band perform, whether it's the Hank Williams-style "Hard Out Here" or the title song (a military acronym for "Kiss My Ass Guys, You're on Your Own"), set to the tune and headlong tempo of Bob Dylan's "Subterranean Homesick Blues." Of course, Carll sings in a wheezy country twang, and his lyrics suggest the barstool wit of an engaging loser. Since he has no interest in doing anything new or different with the musical style, the question is, how well does he function within the tradition of, say, Guy Clark and Townes Van Zandt and Jerry Jeff Walker? And the answer is, often quite well. "KMAG YOYO" itself is sung in the voice of a contemporary teenage G.I. trying to make his way through the Afghanistan morass any way he can; "Another Like You," a duet with Cary Ann Hearst, finds clever ways to set up an opposites-attract one-night stand; "Bottle in My Hand" hauls in a couple of Carll's peers in Corb Lund and Todd Snider to further investigate honky tonk issues; and "Grateful for Christmas" is an affectionate and amusing spoken word take on a family holiday gathering. These are the album's best songs, but the rest are good, too, and the whole is a worthy addition to the ever-growing catalog of sly Texas country-rock. © William Ruhlmann /TiVo
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Rock - Verschenen op 30 augustus 2010 | Lost Highway Records

On his third album, songwriter Ryan Bingham reveals both confidence and growth. His previous recordings showed promise but were marred by youthful excesses. Bingham won an Oscar for "The Weary Kind," the theme song from the film Crazy Heart. The song was produced by T-Bone Burnett, creating a partnership extended on Junky Star. Bingham and his Dead Horses -- drummer Matthew Smith, bassist Elijah Ford, and guitarist Corby Schaub -- create a sound planted deeply in folk, country, blues, and roots rock. These lyrically direct songs reflect lost, desperate, displaced individuals, all dreaming the same dark dream and all growing tenser with the times -- and some fall over the edge. Bingham has trimmed his songwriting to the bone, while learning to use metaphor and metonymy with a reportorial eye for detail, allowing the power in his words to speak for themselves. He begins articulating his sandblasted vision of America with "The Poet." Amid acoustic guitars, a lonesome harmonica, restrained electric, and bass drum, Bingham's whiskey-soaked vocal articulates a theme the entire album turns on: "As I keep walking, people keep talking/About things they've never seen or done/Homeless sleep in the park, lovers kiss in the dark/Me, myself I keep moving on through town...the poet in the back writes down his songs in blood." Time is suspended as Bingham's road-worn protagonists tell their hardscrabble stories, past and present, physically and psychologically; sometimes their journeys reach tragic ends. In "The Wandering," countrified rock expresses rootlessness as peace of mind, but one wonders if the seeming protagonist isn't just whistling past the graveyard. "Strange Feelin' in the Air," "Junky Star" (one of several murder ballads), and the explosively rockist "Depression" contradict that view: constant movement seems the key to survival, not contentment. "Hallelujah" is a first-person murder ballad from the victim's point of view that is as utterly moving as it is bone-chilling. "Lay My Head on the Rail" is folk poetry. The lyric blues in "Hard Worn Trail" are rooted in poverty, stress, and broken relationships, searching relentlessly for comfort that doesn't arrive. Even the rowdy outlaw country closer, "All Choked Up Again," mines the existential darkness deeper. Bingham is unflinching, his delivery is collected; even when singing passionately he reserves judgment, leaving room for a glimmer on the horizon, but he doesn't expect it. Musically and lyrically rooted in the Americana of the South and West, Junky Star does offer consolation, however: in these 12 songs, desperation is a shared language disseminated by the storyteller; no one need be left alone in it. Bingham mirrors our era in new legends and myths, without distorting or romanticizing it. © Thom Jurek /TiVo
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Ambient / New Age / Easy Listening - Verschenen op 1 januari 2010 | Lost Highway Records