Tag: Song of the Week

Kelsey Waldon, ‘Dirty Old Town’

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Kelsey Waldon has had a hands-on insight into classic country since she moved to Nashville, supplementing her formidable debut, The Gold Mine, with van tours and honky-tonk shows, as well as a different kind of education with a gig behind the bar. On her sophomore full-length, I've Got A Way, the Kentucky native further proves she does have a way — with introspective lyrics and a delivery that somehow turns heartbreak into a soundtrack fit for long drives in the country or a late night on the porch.

The album's opening track, "Dirty Old Town," is an early standout for its spry tempo and the way it expands upon the coal town commentary that made The Gold Mine such an ear-catching first release. From the very first riff, "Dirty Old Town" sets the tone for I've Got A Way by ushering in the record's heroine with a healthy dose of side-eye to small town life and a self-deprecating, endlessly relatable nod to the fact that you can know the flaws of a place — or a memory, relationship, or, hell, a grudge — without necessarily letting it go. Waldon has quickly established herself as one of Nashville's rising class of artists carrying the torch for no-frills classic country, and that's particularly evident in the instrumentation on this cut: Prominent pedal steel and swift finger-picking provide the optimum backdrop for Waldon's thick, sweet drawl. The song may stick to country's most recognizable characteristics, but it's a well-placed introduction to this record of foot-tapping highs and gut-wrenching lows.

Whiskey Myers, ‘Mud’

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Texas-born Whiskey Myers hasn't formally released a record since 2014's Early Morning Shakes, but you wouldn't know it by their following: The group has doggedly continued touring and performing, and their forthcoming full-length, MUD, is nothing if not a testament to the work they've put in outside the studio. The album was produced by Dave Cobb, Nashville's latest household name and the producer behind hits from Jason Isbell and Chris Stapleton, and it bears the same reverence to the live setting and the recording space that have lent his recent slam-dunk releases an authentic edge. By now, too, the five-piece has honed in on a down-home rock 'n' roll sound — while nurturing the country and roots influences that built them — and the album varies richly between songs.

What the songs on MUD do have in common is a quality that lends them to dialing up the volume: "On the River" holds a torch for bluegrass influences without leaving behind the group's hard-rocking persona, while "Good Ole Days" sounds like the product of a bunch of buddies singing along to an off-the-cuff jam in the kitchen. But the title track leaves country music on the backburner in favor of heavy riffs and anthemic delivery. It's the kind of sound you'd pick out for a walk-up song — whether that walk is over to home plate at a blazing hot baseball game or across the room to the jukebox. The number closes out with a chorus of "ohs" that feels more like a rock-tinged battle cry, fearlessly chanting through the melody and capitalizing on a well-honed rougher side for these booze-soaked Southern rockers.

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Wilco, ‘If I Ever Was a Child’

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Wilco, schmilco. If you haven’t said it, someone has: When a group possesses that lethal combination of storied tenure, critical acclaim, and annoying nicknames (take "Kings of Dad Rock," for example) then they're bound to draw as many people who want to reduce them to nothing more than a product of years of overblown, indie-fed hype as die-hard fans. One of the best ways Wilco has found to deal with this phenomenon is to simply be in on the joke — this time, by actually naming their forthcoming album Schmilco and decking out the cover with a wickedly funny cartoon wherein an actual dad uses his own finger to help power a record player, becoming, quite literally, a purveyor of Rock by Dad.

While Wilco's last LP, Star Wars, veered well into their own unique catalogue of dissonant melodies, a newly released song from Schmilco, "If I Ever Was a Child," is driven by a much simpler strum. With Jeff Tweedy's voice on soft echo, it's a quieter, even gently twangy incarnation of the Chicago band — almost as if it were a stripped-down, acoustic version of something off of 2002's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, full of twisted, melancholy metaphors that few are better at conjuring. "Cry like a windowpane," sings Tweedy in a playful yet tearful turn of phrase. There's no sturdy narrative here, just a pondering over what could have been or once was, showing that they're as equally good at being beautifully simple as they are at being beautifully complex. Wilco doesn't need to prove themselves to anybody — and what the hell is Dad Rock, anyway? — but taking things back to the basics is one surefire way to do it. Dad Rock, Schmad Rock.

Courtney Marie Andrews, ‘Irene’

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Just like many male folk troubadours who have to constantly endure the sometimes simpleton logic of being compared to Bob Dylan — should they dare to play acoustic guitar and maybe wear denim — women who do the same are equally reduced to being Joni Mitchell wannabes, often before anyone actually listens to their songs (and especially if they have bangs). For most artists, this is a destructive move: one, because few can actually live up to those touch points, and two, both singers have such idiosyncratic fingerprints that it can only steer people into disappointment … like biting into something you're told tastes like a marshmallow only to encounter savory, not sweet.

But for singer/songwriter Courtney Marie Andrews, the Joni Mitchell comparison is not an unjust leap — she evokes the legend without being completely derivative, and with a little more swing in her step. After years touring as a guitarist and background vocalist for artists like Damien Jurado, Andrews decamped to a small Washington State town to focus on the words and melodies that would become Honest Life, her excellent forthcoming LP, due August 19. "Irene," one of the album's punchiest standout tracks, conjures Mitchell not just in particular voice breaks or sonic choices, but in how Andrews choses subject matter: About a good woman who is a magnet for bad decisions, it's an observational tale in an all-about-my-selfie generation. Full of swinging riffs and piano vamps that fling the lyrics out with clever force, it shows that folk music can be equally savory and sweet.

Sara Watkins, ‘Say So’

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Sara Watkins — at 35 years young — is basically an elder stateswoman in the Americana world, playing fiddle and singing in Nickel Creek since 1989, when she was doing it for tradition, not trend. In all that time, she's only released three solo records: a self-titled effort in 2009, Sun Midnight Sun in 2012, and now, Young in All the Wrong Ways, released this past Friday. When you can count your musical career in decades, and mostly as part of a band or the family business — i.e. the Watkins Family Hour, which went from live revue to recording last year — it's hard for people to figure out exactly who you are, if it's not packaged easily.

Which is perhaps why so much of the chatter surrounding Young in All the Wrong Ways has been about how, after all this time, we're finally getting to know the "real" Sara Watkins — that she's finally "reintroducing" herself to the world. And while it's true that the LP is a thrillingly prescient look at her life, driven by a spirit of experimentation and musical play barely reliant on her signature fiddle, it's also true that, if songs like "You and Me" from Sun Midnight Sun didn't make it clear what Watkins is capable of — or how clear her voice is (in both tone and identity) — then maybe you weren’t listening hard enough. Just because she was more joyous there didn't make the music any less real … fiddle or no fiddle.

Young in All the Wrong Ways is a breakup album of sorts — with her label, with a romance, with "herself," as she's said — so it's darker and more introspective than anything she's done before. But it's the same Watkins, just evolved. Take "Say So," one of the album's most moving tracks: There's none of that aggressive fiddling, but her crystalline vocals are deeply intact, wandering and quivering around pop-rock construction in only the way someone raised on bluegrass can do. It's no reintroduction, just the work of a woman who knows what comes from her lungs, and her mind, is just as powerful as a bow and a set of strings.

Ruston Kelly, ‘Black Magic

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On a good day in Tennessee lately, you're lucky to find 80-degree weather in the shade: The South is currently in full-on sticky Summer mode, where being covered in sweat or mosquitos (or both) is a daily occurrence. There are a few remedies out there — good air conditioning, a frozen beverage, a dip in the lake — but one, from Nashville's Ruston Kelly, cools things down in a more unusual way. And that's through the eardrums.

As a successful songwriter for the likes of Tim McGraw and Kenny Chesney, you might guess that Kelly's solo offerings would be well-suited to parties with pool floats and festivals where a corn-dog grin and jean shorts are the most appropriate uniforms, but that's not his style — or his season. His new debut EP, produced by Bright Eyes' Mike Mogis, says so in the title: It's called Halloween, and is full of tracks that have more in common with Ryan Adams and Butch Walker than any chipper country jam, fully evoking the moody taunt of fickle Fall, when both the people and the leaves change their colors. One of the chilliest moments is "Black Magic," which takes its cues from the likes of Elliott Smith, who could feel the inherent darkness in the hollows of an acoustic guitar, and stretches it through a virulent chorus. "I drank your poison, fell under your spell. Love is hell and nothing more than black magic," he sings. Sure, Kelly could have waited until after Labor Day to unleash this antithesis to the sometimes artificial, ephemeral joy of Summer, but why? It's good to be reminded that everything — from oppressive heat to rapturous romance — ends, eventually.

The Felice Brothers, ‘Aerosol Ball’

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It's hard to find a downside to this most recent modern roots revival — after all, what could be bad about a trend toward acoustic instruments, old-time influences, and keen harmonies? Well, not much, and we're certainly not complaining. But as more and more bands have ditched the distortion pedals for the dobro, there is one thing that's sometimes lost along the way: edge. When a good string band is good, they often teeter on the brink of madness, creating an environment that's as much punk rock as it is Americana. Old Crow Medicine Show paved a roadmap to how this could be done on LPs like Tennessee Pusher and Big Iron World, where expert musicianship and classic craft didn't have to breed something that's just so darn earnest.

The Felice Brothers, who got their start busking in the New York City subway, ain't earnest. Not in the pejorative sense, at least — and that metaphor of playing acoustic music as the concrete jungle towered overhead and trains whirled by is a perfect expression of how their sound, while entrenched in past traditions, manages to never succumb to serious, precious practices. Their newest track, "Aerosol Ball," from their forthcoming album, Life in the Dark, is proof that even after 10 years as a band, they've never lost that gritty grasp on their breed of folk-country. Propelled by Ian Felice's off-kilter vocals and James Felice's accordion, there's a welcome dose of angst behind the melodies that demonstrate the song's visceral tension toward the modern age. "The lines on her palm are made by Viacom," sings Ian, full of vinegar, "and her dreams and her thoughts were made by Microsoft." Acoustic punk, not cutesy roots, at its best.

Stop Light Observations, ‘Dinosaur Bones’

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Charleston band Stop Light Observations take great pains to stay true to their roots, and that includes finding authentic spots to record their Southern-inspired rock tunes. The quintet took to a 300-year-old property in the Lowcountry of South Carolina to record their forthcoming LP, Toogoodoo, which takes its name from the area's Toogoodoo Bluff and is slated for release later this year. We have an exclusive clip of Stop Light Observations performing "Dinosaur Bones," the album's opening track and lead single, in an 18th-century cabin on the property.

"This song has consistently been labeled with the feeling of loneliness," the band's William Blackburn says. "Rightfully so — the words speak of being more alone than dinosaur bones. That being said, there is a type of peace or a sense of calm that I find myself experiencing nearly every time I listen. Since I was maybe 16 and visited Toogoodoo for the first time with John Keith, I was adamant about recording an album there. The energy there is beyond compare, and has inspired and cultivated love. Toogoodoo is a haven for love and community."

Vaudeville Etiquette, ‘Damn Lovely’

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The revolution will not be televised, but it will be pants-less … at least, if Vaudeville Etiquette has anything to do with it. The Seattle quintet sings of such a revolution on this brand new track, "Damn Lovely," off their forthcoming album, Aura Vista Motel, out May 6. The soulful, smoldering tune showcases the harmonic interplay between vocalists Tayler Lynn and Bradley Laina, as well as the strength of their three-piece backing band, all the while telling the story of a fateful note left on Lynn's mirror.

"'Damn Lovely' is a sexy love letter to sexy love letters," Lynn says. "I wrote the song during a time filled with lots of late and debaucherous nights. One morning, I woke up to a note that read, 'You are so damn lovely,' taped to my mirror. I took that line into the shower and started singing it. By the end of the day, the song was written and, by the end of the year, that poet and I were living together. 

"The song draws on soul influences — arguably the sexiest of all musical genres — with its languid bass line, dirty Rhodes, stabbing horn licks, and sassy backup vocals. I've always been turned on by singers like Aretha Franklin and Etta James who so provocatively assert their femininity through the strength in their vocals. I'd be lying if I didn't say that took a few cues from them. 'Damn Lovely' is a call to put it all on the line, take off your pants, and start a revolution.”

Listen to "Damn Lovely" and pre-order Aura Vista Motel here.

Patrick Droney, ‘Game of Love’

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For being only 23 years old, Patrick Droney has done a lot in his young life. From playing with B.B. King to working with Glen Ballard, Droney has accomplished more than many musicians do in a lifetime. Now, the Los Angeles artist is in the studio working on an as-yet-untitled EP of solo material with Sean Hurley, a producer and bass player who has worked with the likes of John Mayer, Annie Lennox, and Alicia Keys. He's also spent some time in Nashville working on a handful of co-writes that are sure to please.

We're excited to premiere one of those new tunes, the guitar-driven, soulful pop jam "Game of Love." 

"'Game of Love' was inspired by a story and a groove," Droney says. "At a certain point in your life, you start to take stock of what you think you need or what you think you should be doing. However, sometimes in that process, you forget that the most important thing is the person right next to you. Love has no timeline or schedule — this is kind of a self-realization of that. Musically, I'm proud to be able to share the story with my guitar as it echoes the sentiments of my voice. That's how it goes, though — in my most trying moments, the strings have always had my back." 

Listen to "Game of Love" and keep up with Droney here.

Photo credit: Catie Laffoon