Set me Free, Cass McCombs

Easily one of the best songwriters in this era of music, singer/poet/public man, Cass McCombs has really struck gold with Big Wheel and Others. 

Earlier this evening, my friend...let's call him "Clint"...texted me.

Clint: "What do you think about the new Cass McCombs album?"

I, in the midst of editing a paper for my girlfriend...let's call her "Holly"...was entrenched in the bowels of MLA formats, rhetorical fallacies, and academic vocabulary (the kind of tunnel vision induced flowery language that walks the fine line between relative brilliance and positive bullshit), responded.

Stephen: "It's really just extras from his last album from what I see/hear. Cass has really hit a point where he can do little wrong in my eyes. It's like Jeff Tweedy. He could poop on some wax and I would find something artistic about the shape of the turd. Maybe I'm a little biased in that respect. But I think it's fun and has some really solid tracks. I really like the direction he's going and I f*cking love the production on these sessions. It's f*cking interesting, too. Mike Gordon from Phish is on some of these takes."


Surprisingly, 'Clint' didn't respond with "Why would anyone type that much in a text or speak in such disgusting idioms?"

And we ended up making plans to see Cass up in Nashville later this year.

My response was longwinded, but I stand by most of those comments. At that point, I'd only really listened to a couple of tracks on the way to work today. Needless to say I was impressed. Cass has never let me down thus far. It is fun. It's experimental and lively. It's inspired, different. Karen Black kills...again. Also, Bringing Mike Gordon in was a brilliant move, and the Phish bass man, as well as Joe Russo, one of my favorite drummers from way back, really rubbed off on Cass's songs (see "It Means a Lot to Know You Care", that could be a Hampton Jam next year, man.) PR-wise, I think it opens Cass up o a whole new audience. And I do still love this production. It's natural, as natural as two Cass McCombses singing in either ear can be. It's clean. Quiet and clean.

But calling them "just extras" from Humor Risk was doing the album a disservice. After a much needed (for every album) headphone session, I knew they were much more. "Risk" is a theme that runs through McCombs' songwriting. Betting it all on red. All the marbles. It seems like he is at risk of losing his at any time. He puts it all on the line with these songs, swinging with conviction from jazz to post-rock to pre-rock, R&B and everything in between. Destroying whatever's left of the walls of conventional songwriting at this point. As a songwriter, I'm jealous. As a fan, it's a real thrill ride.

Now, I have to admit, while I was hooked up to my laptop, I started to read Pitchf***k's review of this album. The writer talked about this influence and that. Dropping obscure 90's avant-garde references left and right. But after a while, I closed the window. You can't just reduce it to that. Songs like this have an air about them that deserves to be experienced.

So do.

https://soundcloud.com/dominorecordco/cass-mccombs-brighter

https://soundcloud.com/dominorecordco/cass-mccombs-there-can-be

          Good to know Cass and I have the same taste in NetFlix documentaries. 

Falling in Love Too Late

All the wasted moments, the lonely days, the silent hours. Lost. All the time, my whole life of almost two decades that I could have been listening to Gram Parsons, and I hadn't been. And yet, up until a few long years ago, I walked around, fancying myself some sort of musical expert, an alt-country connoisseur. I gobbled up everything I could get my hands on from the Bottle Rockets to Uncle Tupelo. I'd gotten close to Parsons with Sweetheart of the Rodeo. Sure, I'd read his name on some track credits. But there was a time, not too long ago, when I didn't know the difference between Gram and Gene. I thought Roger McGuinn or David Crosby had fathered the sound that I so blindly sought in my own songwriting. Now, a life where the Flying Burrito Brothers is just a mexican restaurant in New Zealand seems to me a sad existence.

The band I played with in college was often pegged as "alt-country", which was triumph for my songwriting aspirations. I was, and still am, a huge fan of Wilco, so to even be lumped into the same genre as my heroes was great for me. But I didn't understand where it all came from. I knew the Bakersfield sound. I'd heard Merle Haggard. But I couldn't see where the leap was made. What made the genre new? How did the "alt" come to be? The answer, of course, is Gram Parsons.

Arguably, it came about from the first time ol' Sneaky Pete plugged his pedal steel into a fuzz box. Kleinow has been hailed as the Hendrix of pedal steel for more reasons than that. He really brought an edge to the Burrito Brothers that was missing in contemporary acts like the Byrds. McGuinn and Co. were too pop oriented. Certainly, what they did could be considered country/rock*, but alternative they were not. Country music has always had a love affair with the Bad Boy, the Outlaw, the Drifter. They drink and fight and leave their women (though they often regret that decision). But all those characters have charm, charisma. They didn't have songs about the lonely kid in the corner, lost in a dark thought, or crying with a woman they love. They didn't talk about succumbing to a world of narcotics or issues of the day. Parsons brought this voice to life. He blended heavy elements of country twang and R&B soul with the free thought of a new generation and the tortured dichotomy of a cynical gospel.

Parsons became the grievous angel, a label that only really makes sense after you've immersed yourself in his music. A love song has never been as true to the heart as "A Song For You", and "Juanita"; Don't even get me started on that song. The arrangement, the lyrics, and that classic but compelling chord progression that provide a full, dusty canvas for Pete's rhythmic rolls and perfect sweeping bends. Parsons and Chris Hillman are really on point in this track, too. Each soulfully wandering around those harmonies, occupying their own side of the stereo. It's perfection. That whole album (Guilded Palace of Sin) is close to perfect.

But perfect wouldn't be the Burrito Brothers. It wouldn't be Gram Parsons. His songs *may* have been perfect. I say this only because I stumbled upon this fantastic compilation several months back. I really enjoy Beck and Emmylou on "Sin City", really I do. It just doesn't even compare to this. And I thoroughly appreciate Whiskeytown's version of "Song for You", but c'mon (skip to about 1:19 if you don't enjoy vintage crowd fodder). There isn't that melancholy, that soul of that original voice (a voice that even came through in his covers.  It's all too polished, too sterile. Gram and Emmylou had a special connection that is so rare to witness. I wish I could have been at one of The Fallen Angels shows. It must have such an inspiring performance. Sometimes I think about what it would have been like to live in that era. Then I realize that if, on the off chance, I happened to have heard of Gram Parsons when he was still kickin' around in 1973, I would have had to travel long distances to see him. 2013 offers me the opportunity to discover music like Gram. Music that has a real, profound effect and resonance. I guess it's never too late to fall in love. Some might say I lack any imagination in my time-traveling fantasy. Maybe. Maybe I just don't know how to end this post.

*Not like the Eagles. Gram greatly disliked the Eagles.