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Son Volt’s “Trace” (1995) – The Weekend Review

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By Chris Moore

RATING:  2 / 5  stars

Although Wilco has since gained more critical acclaim, let us not forget that Son Volt was, at least initially, the more successful of the post-Uncle Tupelo groups.  When I fell hard for Wilco a year and a half ago, I went hungrily about, devouring any relevant music I could find:  Jeff Tweedy’s solo work, Golden Smog, the Minus Five, Wilco demos, and back to the source of it all, Uncle Tupelo.  I had an interest in Trace, but I never could find it in physical form on the shelves anywhere.

It took a devoted member of the Jay Farrar message board community to come across my Deep Racks Report on Wilco’s A.M. (1995) and point out my not-so-subtle dismissal of Son Volt for me to realize I had better get serious and find this album.

A year and several spins of their mediocre 2009 record American Central Dust later, I finally stumbled across their debut release in downtown New Haven, CT.

It’s a striking record, a heartfelt, gritty grind through eleven serious songs, Farrar’s characteristic vocal chords creaking at every turn.  The first word that comes to mind is authenticity.  I can see more clearly than ever that Farrar certainly brought that component to Tupelo.  Still, I could have guessed that from A.M.; I love its lyrical bluntness and boneheaded beauty, but Tweedy seemed to be simply passing through town on the way to more experimental music.

Certainly, Uncle Tupelo pioneered the alternative country genre, Tweedy’s interests clearly moving progressively farther to the alternative and, as Trace confirms, Farrar’s predilections being for more pure country – often distortion-soaked, but country all the same.

At best, Trace is a collection of compelling words and instrumentation that gel around what has become a distinctive Son Volt sound.  Still, with the exception of “Drown,” I can’t shake the impression that listening to a Son Volt song is like examining a heartbeat: within the first several seconds, you can predict exactly what is to come for the duration.

Son Volt's "Trace" (1995)

Son Volt's "Trace" (1995)

“Windfall” is a fairly straightforward number, the harmonies and acoustic work kicking off the album on a calm but serious note.  It was most certainly unintentional, but I find the reference here to AM radio representing a “truer sound” quite interesting, considering the title of Wilco’s debut release six months earlier.

The band takes it up a notch on “Live Free,” introducing electric guitar to the mix.  Even here, though, there is nothing groundbreaking.  It is catchy, to be sure, and there is some strumming that verges on being a riff.

Track three retracts that aforementioned notch, but “Tear Stained Eye” is perhaps the most beautiful song on the album.

“Route” has more raw energy than anything that came before, and the band begins to show a bit of disregard for note-for-note perfection — a welcome change.  Still, there is nothing outstanding about “Route” when taken out of context.

If depression is your game, then “Ten Second News” is your song.  As much as I want to skip it, I do acknowledge that, the reference to cancer notwithstanding, it sounds like it could have come directly out of a traditional ballad written who knows how long ago in the who knows where.

Then comes the flagship of this album.  “Drown” has everything that a great rock song should: raw energy, a catchy riff, cool electric soloing, great vocals with hints of harmonies in all the right places.  If there were more songs like this, Trace would have received an altogether different rating from me.

Even after multiple listens, the songs on the remainder of the album begin to blend together for me.  “Loose String” and “Too Early” aren’t bad songs…  They’re just not memorable ones. “Out of the Picture” and “Catching On” have more substance to them, but I can’t avoid noticing the echoes of A.M. in them.  (Why reviewers extolled Trace‘s virtues while so blatantly disregarding the merits of Wilco’s debut, I may never understand.)

Son Volt could not have chosen a more poignant number than their cover of Ron Woods’ “Mystifies Me,” and their version verges on the quintessential.

All in all, I don’t dislike Trace, but I am nonplussed by the attention it has received.  At best, it is a middle of the road release with a handful of fantastic songs.  At worst, it is yet another reason Wilco fans have to be excited about the Uncle Tupelo split.

Music Review: John Mayer’s “Battle Studies” (2009)

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RATING:  3 / 5 stars

By Chris Moore:

As John Mayer explained in a recent interview, his new studio album is an exploration of the more violent side of a romantic relationship – thus the “battle” – but within the parameters of an intelligent, reasonable analysis – thus the “studies.”

If this sounds deep and insightful, well, it is.

Kind of.

One of the key aspects that detracts from Mayer’s music is his intermittently pedestrian lyricism.  I qualify this as “intermittently” because he certainly has moments, here as on his previous albums, of witty, striking, or just simply strong, well-worded lyrics.  And yet, there are also those head-shaking, “isn’t this your fourth album” moments when he sings lines like “I love you more than songs can say,” “then you come crashing in like the realest thing,” and the general “half and half,” mathematical confusion of “Half of My Heart.”

The line between innocent yet intelligent sincerity and downright derivative drivel has always been the debate about John Mayer’s music – recall, for instance, the title of his second album, Heavier Things.  And I would have screamed if I had to hear one more person referencing Continuum by saying, “His blues work is so strong, I can finally take him seriously.”

Regardless of your opinion of Mayer’s intellectual and lyrical prowess, Battle Studies is a well put-together record that consistently demonstrates his awareness of the big picture.  The album opens with a fade in to “Heartbreak Warfare,” which clearly establishes the battle imagery and the war metaphor for a romantic relationship in distress.  The song provides just the right blend of symbolic description and more literal framing for the album to follow.

“All We Ever Do Is Say Goodbye” is a perfect representation of that moment before a breakup when the fighting has ceased and the inevitability of it all can be depressing, crushing.  It is, of course, soon followed by a rationalization of the situation – Mayer interestingly brought in country music star Taylor Swift to simplify things and play a catchy, if straightforward tune.

Then comes the breaking point.

“Who Says” set off some controversy when it was first released due to the repeated question, “Who says I can’t get stoned?”  This is yet another example of the general public being incapable of taking a line metaphorically.  This is hardly a “tokin’ song,” as one YouTube viewer suggested in his poor review of the single.  Mayer is clearly – and has said as much himself – using the marijuana reference to represent actions that you wouldn’t normally be able to take due to the expectations of others.  This is quite in line with other queries in the song such as, “Who says I can’t be free from all of the things that I used to be?”

Even the line “I don’t remember you looking any better, but then again, I don’t remember you” is questionable.  Some have written it off as glorifying a reunion after a drugged or drunken one night stand.  I hope that I do not offer too much credit to Mayer when I read this as an extension of the experimentation and freedom of this song – in other words, he doesn’t remember this person because he has never met them before.  Now that he is single again, he is free to “meet all the girls in the county line.”

This declaration of rebellion and/or independence is followed by “Perfectly Lonely,” a catchy ode to bachelorhood that highlights some of Mayer’s best guitar work.  Then comes “Assassin,” an even deeper dive into the territory of the “player/heartbreaker.”

John Mayer's "Battle Studies" (2009)

John Mayer's "Battle Studies" (2009)

The most difficult track for me to process has been his cover of “Crossroads.”  Yes, this is an old Robert Johnson song, but Mayer is really channeling Eric Clapton here.  That being said, Mayer’s “Crossroads” is hardly a faithful cover of the Cream track.  Instead, there are remnants of the guitar riff included in a song just begging to be DJ’ed into a dance mix.

I’m not sure how I feel about that.

Well, I actually am sure how I feel about that.  But what I do like about this track is its thematic relevance to the album.  The idea of being at a crossroads comes at the perfect time, halfway through the album.  The previous three tracks have celebrated “loneliness” of a sort, but this track reminds us that if we are all alone, we may go unrecognized when we try to “flag a ride.”

“War of My Life” is a perfect choice to follow this cover, as Mayer reverts to that classic sound he has come to be known for – and I should emphasize that “Assassin” and “Crossroads” really do have a sound that is all their own on this record.  As per usual, Mayer returns to his standby pensive lyrics and pouty crooning.

The final section of the album is where something is lost, some energy and presence that was stronger in the opening half.  This is precisely where my opinion of the album wavers.

That being said, these final three tracks complete the cycle of this album concept, providing narration from a man on the “Edge of Desire” ready to go back on what he believes in order to restore his relationship.  Then comes the re-assessment, pulling himself out of that moment of weakness with “Do You Know Me.”  Finally, Mayer closes up shop on this album with the anthemic “Friends, Lovers, or Nothing,” putting forth a learned truth of sorts.

All in all, Battle Studies accomplishes what it set out to – namely, to study a relationship at the end of its lifespan from the perspective of an individual maintaining his dignity, going back on what he has said, and ultimately enjoying and – more interestingly – appreciating his individuality and independence.

Mayer has called this album a sidestep, and Battle Studies sounds like it picks up from where Heavier Things left off.

And that is more than all right with me.

Bob Dylan’s “The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan” (1963) – The Weekend Review

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By Chris Moore:

RATING:  5 / 5 stars

As Clinton Heylin points out in Revolution in the Air, his excellent study of Bob Dylan’s songs written between 1957 and 1973, at the time he wrote “Blowin’ in the Wind,” “he was still considered by his contemporaries (and his record label) a performer first and a songwriter a distant second” (78).

With a single studio album, all of that changed.

Perhaps beginning with “Blowin’ in the Wind,” the oldest song he chose to record for his second album, some inexplicable connection had been made between the vast array of traditional folk influences and Dylan’s innate creativity and way with words.  From front to back, The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan plays as a collection of songs with more range than a twenty-two year-old should, in theory, be able to successfully muster.

And yet, here they are.

Forty-seven years later, these songs and their simple live-take arrangements comprised of lead vocal, acoustic guitar, and harmonica — with one exception on “Corrina, Corrina” — are every bit as vital, vibrant, and relevant as they ever were.  The civil rights movement proper may have passed, but institutionalized discrimination has not.  The Vietnam “conflict” may fall strictly under the domain of history textbooks, but my generation has “conflicts” of its own.  And the desire to return to the simpler days of one’s youth, love songs, and, of course, breakup songs all belong in the “timeless” category.

This is what is perhaps most impressive about The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan: namely — particularly following his ho-hum self-titled debut so closely — Dylan’s ability to shift between all of these gears so seamlessly and with such mastery.

Although this is his second album, Dylan’s unique flair for levity clearly debuts on this release.  Certainly, there was potential hinted at in the Bob Dylan original “Talkin’ New York,” but it appears weak in comparison to gems like “Talkin’ World War III Blues” and “I Shall Be Free.”  What is remarkable about these tracks is that they are not merely superficial ditties designed for laughs.  Rather, they are satirical in nature, and stand up in terms of substance to any of the more “serious” tracks like “Blowin’ in the Wind” and “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right.”

Probably the only way this album could have been better is if the controversial “Talkin’ John Birch Society Blues” had been green-lighted by the label.  As it was, the song was pulled — and lost Dylan his slot on the Ed Sullivan Show when he refused to choose a different song to perform — for the lines “We all agree with Hitler’s views / Though he killed six million Jews” (Heylin 70).

Speculation only goes so far, though, as it would have been a shame to have any one track stand out from among the rest on such a well-balanced album, so perhaps it was all for the best.

"The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan" (1963)

"The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan" (1963)

“Blowin’ in the Wind” is an undisputed classic of 1960’s folk and protest music.  Once the Peter, Paul, and Mary cover version hit the radio waves, its fate was sealed: Dylan became the “voice of a generation” in large part due to this song.  As Heylin put it, “Dylan soon began to be pestered by those who thought that anyone asking such questions had answers” (81).

He follows up this opener with “Girl From the North Country,” one of the most bittersweet songs Dylan ever penned.  Although Johnny Cash fans — myself included — might find the Nashville Skyline duet enjoyable, there is no substitute for the original.  And if heartache could be heard, then it would sound precisely like that final note Dylan hits on the harmonica.

As if to remind the listener of his backbone, track three reveals the scathing “Masters of War.”  I hesitate to label it an anti-war song, as Dylan has cautioned reviewers against doing so, rather pointing out that the object of his scorn was the military industrial complex.  Regardless, it is certainly among his harshest compositions, including the line, “And I hope that you die / and your death will come soon… / And I’ll stand over your grave ’til I’m sure that you’re dead.”

“Down the Highway” comes next, a fairly straightforward song of woes and the road, and is followed by the surreal “Bob Dylan’s Blues,” a wonderfully quirky song that manages to reference the Lone Ranger and Tonto, sports cars, and six-shooters in little more than two minutes.

“A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall” is one of the first true lyrical masterpieces penned by Dylan.  Sans instrumentation and vocals, it could just as easily be a winning poem.  Still, it is difficult to imagine this poignant deep track without Dylan’s characteristic vocal driving it.

You may have heard the Peter, Paul, and Mary version of this next track, but this is absolutely a case in which the Dylan recording is superior in both performance and tone.  “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right” was meant to be read as a bitter parting note, and it works best that way.

“Bob Dylan’s Dream” strikes an emotional note, expressing the desire to return to the simpler days of one’s youth.  Somehow, he manages to string together a series of lines and images that are quite relatable without being campy or contrived.

The next track is what can only be described as a topical track, and “Oxford Town” provides a preview of what much of his subsequent album would be like, at least in terms of content.

Following “Talkin’ World War III Blues” comes “Corrina, Corrina,” the only track here to incorporate drums.  This is one of the more simple tracks, but a fun one. “Honey, Just Allow Me One More Chance” is another light-hearted one, sonically if not lyrically, and picks up where “Corrina, Corrina” left off.

Dylan wraps up with “I Shall Be Free,” a perfect blend of commentary and humor that comes across with such great lines as, “I’s out there paintin’ on the old woodshed / When a can a black paint it fell on my head / I went down to scrub and rub / But I had to sit in back of the tub.”

All in all, The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan is the solo acoustic equivalent of a grand slam, hitting on a wide range of topics and moods, expressing for the first time the depth of potential that this young singer/songwriter possessed.  As Heylin’s Revolution in the Air makes perfectly clear, Dylan was still experimenting with his influences here and it could certainly be argued that his work crosses into the realm of appropriation at times, but that has always been an established practice in folk music.  Every line, every melody borrowed from others becomes something different, something contemporary in its new context.

On this, the true debut release of Bob Dylan as a force to be reckoned with, it’s a joy to see his songwriting at work.

And only getting better…

The Black Keys’ “Brothers” (2010) – The Weekend Review

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By Chris Moore:

RATING:  3.5 / 5 stars

In many ways, the Black Keys are as simple a group as any making music of any kind these days.  Their lineup?  Two men: Patrick Carney on drums and Dan Auerbach on guitar.  Their music?  Often riff driven, and usually classified as blues rock.  Their most recent album?  Well, the cover reads, “This is an album by The Black Keys.  The name of this album is Brothers.”  The back cover?  Reads: “These are the names of the songs on this album.  These are the guys in the band.”

From the outside, there has never been an arrangement of sounds, words, and packaging that was quite so blunt.

And yet, there is an inner torment here, ostensibly brought on by the soul-searching trip down memory lane that runs as a common thread throughout all fifteen tracks on Brothers.  At every lyrical turn, the songs return to that most basic of subject matter: the effects of early — and, most often, painful — experiences with love.

It comes as no surprise, then, that the Black Keys would set the music video for “Tighten Up” on a playground, a video which finds Carney and Auerbach’s sons (in the storyline, at least) vying for the attention of a girl.  By the end of the video, the adults, after trying to break up the fight, have begun fighting over the mother of the girl.

The moral of the story, it seems, is that we may grow older, but we never truly change.

Especially when it comes to attraction and love.

As Auerbach sings in “Tighten Up,” “When I was young and moving fast / Nothing slowed me down.”  As the years have gone by, he’s “Living just to keep going / Going just to keep sane.”  The latter lines suggest that there are accumulated memories and experiences from which to run.

These fifteen songs — alternating between the outstanding and the okay — pick at the scars in order to explore those memories and experiences.

The Black Keys' "Brothers" (2010)

The Black Keys' "Brothers" (2010)

Alternating between tender vulnerability and world-weary realism, the resounding statement that this album makes is, as stated on “Next Girl,” “I made mistakes back then / I’ll never do it again.”  During the album-long review of history, there are some mild bouts of nostalgia, but most of those even end in an audible hardening of the skin.  Most are stark realizations, as he goes on to sing in this song that “A beautiful face / And a wicked way / And I’m paying for her / Beautiful face every day.”

“Next Girl” may seem harsh, even misogynistic, but at its core, it is a song about loving not only based on appearances, but also being aware of the deeper values.

Much of the material here refers to relationships gone wrong, as in “She’s Long Gone” when Auerbach sings about a girl who “was made to blow you away/ She don’t care what any man say / You can watch her strut / But keep your mouth shut / Or it’s ruination day.”  This is the classic girl-as-temptress scenario, and calls to mind Estella, the girl who was raised to break men’s hearts in Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations.  The term “ruination day” adds a biblical edge to the tale.

This girl must really have made an impression, as Auerbach goes on to sing, “And she’s not made like those other girls.”

Revisiting track four, one is left to wonder if this is the same girl he is referring to when he sings, “Throw the ball / To the stick / Swing and miss / In the catcher’s mitt / Strike two / Baby I’m howlin’ for you.”

Another theme that is played out is that of jealousy and its longtime ally revenge.  In “Ten Cent Pistol,” Auerbach establishes himself as a third person narrator, telling the tale of a man who “ran around / Late at night / Holding hands / And making light / Of everything / That came before.”  This individual, apparently vowing never to commit, goes on to make an enemy of a woman, perhaps surprised that their time together turned out to be a one-night stand.

He goes on to sing, “There’s nothing worse / In this world / Than payback from a / Jealous girl / The laws of man / Don’t apply / When blood gets in / A woman’s eye.”  Again, a bit exaggerated perhaps, but this sentiment is in line with the woman-as-dangerous paradigm that is explored throughout the album.

The middle to end of the album is perhaps the most blunt, as Auerbach sings of morality in “Sinister Kid,” noting that “Your mother’s words / They’re ringing still / But your mother don’t / Pay our bills.”  Later, in “The Go Getter,” he recounts, “I got a table at the Rainbow Room / I told my wife I’d be home soon… I see my life going down the drain / Hold me baby and don’t let go / Pretty girls help to soften the blow.”  In both cases, the commonality is idealism versus realism.  Both acknowledge normalcy (or what “should” be done), yet go on to do what is necessary, or at least what “help[s] to soften the blow.”

The low point for optimism falls in “I’m Not the One,” as Auerbach asserts, “You think / That I’m normal / But all these years / I’m just trying to warn you / You’d do good / To move on / No it won’t / Hurt me none.”

It’s difficult to believe a statement like this, particularly the idea that another moving on wouldn’t hurt, considering the more vulnerable moments that are explored on this album, as in “Too Afraid to Love You” when he admits that most basic of human truths: “I’m just one wishing / That I was a pair / With someone / Oh somewhere.”  Then, there is their decision to cover “Never Gonna Give You Up,” which is hardly a song of defeat.

To be certain, the narrator’s recounting of what seem to be early experiences with love are most often delivered with a subtext of regret embedded.  Oftentimes, the pain is felt when reality overshadows the imagination, as in “The Only One,” when he sings, “Like a ghost / The one that I love most / She disappears / When I get near.”  This is perhaps the most difficult lesson of all for a young man to learn: namely, that we often build up the ones we love to be something — typically something more — than what they are in reality.

Memories aren’t all bad on the album, though when they aren’t bad, they’re sad, as in “Unknown Brother”:  “We’ll smile like pictures / Of you as a boy / Long before you retired / To heavenly joy.”  This is really the first time since the opening track, where Auerbach states “Love is the coal / That makes this train roll,” that affection is viewed in a positive light.

The album begins with the optimistic sentiment, “Let me be your everlasting light / The sun when there is none,” but it soon turns out that this is probably less a serious request than a desire to believe that this kind of simple, pure love could exist.  This seems to be supported by the closing track of the album, when Auerbach confides in us that, “Wasted times and broken dreams / Violent colors so obscene / It’s all I see these days / These days.”

These songs could be taken at face value as simple little blues rock numbers, but there is so much more woven into the lyrics, and particularly into the vocal deliveries, guitar riffs, and other instrumentation.  All in all, Brothers reads as a return for Carney and Auerbach to the Black Keys, a brotherhood of sorts, that exists after all these years as an outlet for them, as something in which to place faith in the ability of man to feel genuine camaraderie and sentiment, even if it is wrapped in pain and torment.

But, then again, that’s the blues, right?