On my way to see the Felice Brothers in North Adams tonight. Considering how much I listened to this album in the past twelve months, I very nearly included it in my "Top 10 of '10" (see the first ten posts). Time being linear and all, though, doing so didn't seem quite fair since it came out in 2008. Listening to this scrappy, ramshackle, countrypolitan rock - a style of Americana that owes so much, maybe everything, to Bob Dylan and The Band - it's hard not to think about authenticity. Must a contemporary performer update old-fashioned music? Must a white musician eschew traditionally black forms? I have much to say on this topic, but not here and not now. Let it suffice to say that this is late-night, car-drivin', foot-tappin', beer-drinkin', full-throated-sing-along-inspirin' music for those with a taste for country. And I'm not talking about that overly-polished pop with a twang that passes for country these days. I'm talking about the genuine article. I'm talking about that same deep and deeply American wellspring from which all our folk tunes flow. This is midnight ramble music populated by whores, horses, cowards, drunkards, clowns, louts, grifters, drifters, and Methodists! Is it real? Maybe, maybe not. I'm not really sure what that means. Or whether it matters. If you are in the mood to imagine, though, you could do worse than to cast your lot with these dreamers. Grade: A-
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