Where some alt/country bands try to sing and pick like their forefathers so desperately that you can smell their formal musical training a mile away, you get a sense that the Pine Hill Haints (it’s an arcane Southern way to say “haunts†– I looked it up) get their legitimacy not from aping some Smithsonian Folkways compilation or other but from, well, from just making sweet Appalachian porch music. The Alabama skater friends thread together the romance, anxiety, religion, determination, and abandon that makes the American South such an enigma – and such a fertile breeding ground for a band that inadvertently keeps the old traditions alive while creating one all of their own.
Paul Duncan
All I knew of this guy going into my first listen was his first and last name. After a few spins of “Oil in the Fields” — a eulogy which managed to break my heart by the end of the first verse — I feel as though I know volumes despite its sparing lyrics. Like any good songwriter, he understands the importance of the spaces between. His rich voice and talent for orchestration makes such studied restraint that much more enchanting. If the whole album (due November 8) is as good as these two tracks, I may need to make room on my “Best of 2005” list.
Mt. Egypt
There isn’t much sunshine in titles of Mt. Egypt’s plaintive ballads, and there isn’t much sunshine in New York City today, so the pairing is one that fits quite nicely. According to his bio, Travis Graves is “homeless in California,” which begs one of those chicken-or-the-egg questions of whether he’s homeless because he’s an artist or he’s an artist because he’s homeless. The longing in Graves’ vocals is in the great recent tradition of such wounded souls at Will Oldham, Mark Kozelek and Eef Barzelay, and his fragile guitar paints a wistful picture, especially on the lower-fi offerings here. But lest you spin off to something more cheerful to get your weekend going, Graves isn’t all melancholy. His is the sound of transition — that moment when despair gives way to renewal. It’s the perfect soundtrack to the changing of the leaves, because autumn is finally here, even if you’re homeless in California.
José González
A Swedish import via the Parasol label group, so you know you’re in for a treat, right? Impeccable classical guitar work sets the rhythm for González’ intimate, hushed vocals. He’d fit right in with the current neu-folk folks as well as the regrettably departed parties of Nick Drake and Elliott Smith.
Song of the Lakes
Beware! Song of the Lakes is devoid of cynicism, coolness or hipness; the musicians probably don’t wear much black and they likely have a collective age of 200+ yrs. (for the four of them); the flute plays a prominent role in this song. Now that that’s taken care of, if you’re still interested, check out what this near-legendary live act from Up North (northern Michigan / the upper Great Lakes) has to offer. Besides the north woods and lakes, summer cottages and fall-apart piers, maritime traditions and the 19th century, you can hear influences from the British Isles and Scandinavia. More downloads with even more flute are available at the Song of the Lakes website.
Mike Doughty
In my hotel of fond memories, Mike Doughty will always have a guaranteed late arrival, smoking-permitted Junior Executive Suite, complete with Heavenly Bed™ and a pillow mint. When I was a young player trying make it in the journalism game, Doughty was a consistently magical interview and overall nice guy. Also, unbeknownst to him, Doughty sparked the first major argument my wife and I ever had: About three hours into a five-hour road trip I popped in Irresistible Bliss. After a few songs, my then fiancee says, “Do we have to listen to this again?” To which I respond, “Listen, if I were a band, I’d be Soul Coughing. So get used to this.” In the stuff of sitcoms, our pal Ned had to sit through the next two hours in the backseat, wishing he’d found a different ride. I’m happy to report that our marriage weathered that debate and that Doughty is back, badder and deffer than before. My man’s talent still lies in his intrinsically rhythmic yarns, wherein he turns observational minutae into hypnotic commands through nasal, raspy repetition. But his writing has matured and the subway busker sound of his first solo effort has been replaced by some genuine instrumental weight, making Haughty Melodic sound bigger and warmer.
P.S. All you other Mike Doughtys are just imitating…
Truckstop Honeymoon
It seems like an appropriate time to post some New Orleans levee-billy — courtesy of Mike West and Katie Euliss of Arabi, LA — with sincere hopes that Truckstop Honeymoon will still be making these wonderful sounds. Bluegrass, southern rock, country, Anglo-folk all contribute the background to the wonderful narratives presented by this husband and wife crew. Check out “Capitol Hill” and “Walk of Shame” to get a sense of the political and cultural landscape, then hit their website to buy the two Truckstop Honeymoon albums.
Laura Cantrell
Laura Cantrell’s third album came out about a month ago, and I finally got around to ordering it. I’m excited to hear her latest collection of genre-crossing originals and well-chosen covers (check out her version of Elvis Costello’s “Indoor Fireworks,” available on her website along with many more downloads). I’m guessing it will be rich and subtle, if “14th Street,” the first MP3 released, is any indication. If you’re looking for a bit more twang, check out earlier tracks like “Roll, Truck, Roll,” released alongside albums full of trucker songs on the Diesel Only label. Finally, if you really enjoyed Ballboy (posted on 3hive in May), you might enjoy the gentle ballad “I Lost You,” recorded live and loose with Ballboy-er Gordon McIntire for John Peel.
Martha Wainwright
The Wainwrights are the most prolific multi-generational musical family this side of the Carters and the Guthries. And those families never made their own travails quite so voyeuristic: listening to the Wainwrights is a bit like watching a whole season of Six Feet Under in one sitting. Martha’s brother is Rufus, her father is Loudon III, her mother and aunt are Kate and Anna McGarrigle. You can hear the family resemblance in Martha’s sweet supper club number “How Soon” — Martha’s melancholy is almost uplifting. But the languid, atmospheric hum of “I Will Internalize” is proof of a student who has moved beyond simply parroting her teachers. And “BMFA,” whose acronym of a title we’ll let you figure out for yourself (and which she’s dedicated to her father in concert), is the most alluring piece of profanity since Liz Phair traded in her diary for a gold lamé tube top and designer jeans. Let’s hope Martha keeps her current pants on.
Antony and the Johnsons
One of the nice things about a new job (note to self: update bio page) is all the new music you get to hear through your new co-workers. This week, as part of New Music Tuesdays, Andrew brought in Antony and the Johnsons’ exquisite I Am a Bird Now. Antony has been tagged with the same “freak folk” moniker as his pal Devendra Banhart, though I’d call it the transexual blues and add that he sounds more like Nina Simone than Woody Guthrie.