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Rock has always been a bit suspicious about craft. Rock's need for immediacy and intensity casts questions toward those musicians whose albums are clearly worked on with great care. There's a large dose of irony here, since very few albums, even those recorded by the most unrepentant garage-rockers, document playing entirely live in the studio with no overdubs. Musicians will even go to the extent of including count-ins, false starts, between songs chatter, and other artifacts in an attempt to make an album sound more "live" - despite the obvious fact that if these noises were recorded, they could have been edited from the recording as readily as all the other stuff that wasn't left in the final mix. Perhaps this situation arises because craft can too often lead to the kind of perils associated with the worst of '70s singer-songwriters: too polite, too personal, and too stupid. Polite, in that both sonically and lyrically, edges are smoothed away, unpleasant sentiments shied away from. Personal, because lyrics are too often insular, navel-gazing diary recitations. And stupid, because "directness" gets translated from the musical performance to the lyrics and is equated with a bland avoidance of uncertainty, difficulty, or obliqueness (the same holds true of the music in this genre as well). So it's somewhat miraculous that Those Bastard Souls have created a very well-crafted, highly emotive, and possibly very personal CD (three members of the band, including songwriter David Shouse, were close to the late Jeff Buckley) whose music, while certainly not just bashed out in the heat of the moment, also sparks and sparkles with energy and creative detail. David Shouse's vocals are impassioned yet never overwrought (reminding me occasionally of Pinetop Seven's Darren Richard), and his lyrics are intense but veiled, hinting rather than hitting the listener on the head with stylized replicas of emotion. The band, featuring Shouse (also of the Grifters) and Michael Tighe (ex-Jeff Buckley's band) on guitars, former Dambuilder Joan Wasser on violin, Matt Fields (Red Red Meat) on bass, and journeyman drummer Kevin March, draw from a deep well of sonic variety, ranging from the aggressive crunch of "Curious State" to the dreamy hesitations of the closing "Spaced Out," often decorated with saxophone, organ, and the occasional synthesizer. And the songwriting, as the foregoing should imply, is ace: details both musical and lyrical add heft to the songs' relatively direct framework, and arrangements never overburden the songs. Those Bastard Souls give the lie to those who'd argue that untutored simplicity is always best, but they never forget that all the care in the world can't salvage a song that isn't strongly there in the first place. An excellent, beautiful, and moving CD. |
