Just saw Pretty Gritty‘s video for “Cliche,” and can only say color me impressed. The song is sweet and catchy, using instruments ranging from a guitar to spoons to the top of a washing machine. The lyrics are fun, including lines like “I can’t ever seem to wake up on time.”
It is filmed in an apartment laundry room, and includes someone coming in mid-video to do laundry, which sparks a good-natured whistle from the duet’s Blaine Heinonen when he sees lingerie is included. Sarah Wolff plays on through being edged aside for loading laundry.
The music is foot-tapping, the idea for the video is clever, and the song is pure whimsy.
“I Never Knew” is crying set to music. It has a mournful feel, but retains the sweetness of first love lost. The lyrics are simple: “But you don’t want to walk with me, you just watch me as I leave.” The simple ending, “I. . .miss. . .you” captures the feel of the song perfectly.
Simple and direct, both songs showcase the charming harmonies that make Pretty Gritty’s sound. Their homey instruments are comforting, like the deceptively simple music itself.
Pretty Gritty’s members are from Maryland and are currently based in the Portland, OR area. They describe themselves as “Soulful Americana” and the description fits perfectly. You can see their show schedule here.
I discovered David Wilcox with my husband on the way to our honeymoon in Asheville, NC. We heard “Johnny’s Camaro” on a local radio station. My husband, who usually takes a long time to warm to new music, instantly loved it. To this day, when we see a sports car or hyped-up truck taking more than its fair share of a strip mall, we call out in unison, “It takes TWO PARKING SPACES!”
David’s new album is called blaze, and we’ll be reviewing it here sometime soon. Here’s the video for “Ocean Soul” from the album:
David is known for his touching and sometimes hilarious lyrics. I know him as one of the musicians of my honeymoon. You can buy blaze here.
Chamomile and Whiskey describe themselves as “an eclectic blend of raucous-folk, hard-Irish, drunk-americana, and mountain-funk…best served with whiskey… and plenty of it.” Which is as good an explanation as I could create. You definitely smell the whiskey on their latest album, Wandering Boots. Their music has a wild-speed-down-a-dirt-road-without-brakes feeling. But the chamomile is there, too. The bluegrass influence in their music is as homey as rain on a tin roof, and fiddlers and pickers from centuries past would feel a kinship with these mountain folk. Wandering Boots is a mix of wild, drunk, grabbing-at-life while turning to traditional storytelling and age-old sounds to soothe the mind when life turns down one of its frequent rough roads.
The album keeps a joie de vivre while singing of regrets, depression, and lost loves, remembered in the still dark of night with plenty of alcohol to ease the pain. My family is from southwest Virginia, probably near founding band members Marie Borgman and Koda Kerl’s stomping grounds in the Blue Ridge mountains. The “let’s have fun while life has its way with us” vibe throughout the album resonates deeply in my hillbilly DNA. The long history of hard-scrabble living in that part of the country means we take our pleasures where we can, whether it’s in dance, love, or the beauty of the world around us. And when it all falls apart, we shrug, but don’t crumple for long–because we expected nothing less. That sentiment is rounded out by the Irish influence of bandmember Ryan Lavin, whose contribution is obvious throughout the album. The lyrics are word paintings, evoking emotion and imagery that is beautiful, touching, and often completely unexpected.
“Blue Ridge Girl” reminds me of “Rocky Top,” with its story of a girl that’s “half-bear, other half cat.” Songs about a special girl are a staple of music, and this one is as good as any that have gone before. It catches the feel of a Saturday night around a fire in the woods, making music with the special person in your life.
“Dirty Sea” feels like an ancient Irish folk melody you’d hear in a pub while drinking a Guinness. It’s almost impossible to sit still while it’s playing. I may or may not have spent a few moments bouncing up and down in my seat, waving my head around like I’m at a rave. And discovering I’m a little old and lacking in inner ear equilibrium to do that. Plenty of down-home Southern yells in the mix lend credence to their description of “hard-Irish, raucous-folk.” I’m hoping the Chieftains will hear this song and want to do a collaboration.
My favorite song on the album is “Impressions.” The upbeat tempo re-iterates the idea that sadness and the need for comfort give us our ability to connect and appreciate the beauty of life. There are worse life philosophies than “Baby, don’t hold back the tears you cry. ‘Cause the world is a Monet with tears in your eyes.” It is probably the best expression of the album’s theme that life has to be lived without missing any of the pain or exhilarating joy it holds.
A song about inevitable loss and never-ending love, “Long Day” reminds you to grab every success, feel every regret, and live life to its marrow. But that when hurts come, they last a long, long time. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a lyric catch the pain of wanting something that’s gone as perfectly as “your stare will always leave me weak, and every time I try to speak, my words just fall like autumn leaves leaving me exposed like a winter tree. . . And I can’t hide behind a mysterious song. Cause life is too short, this day is too long.” This song is more chamomile that whiskey, soft and soothing in spite of the bitter truth it shares.
“Buckfast Tuesday” is laid back, and one of the songs that suggest the band may have channeled a little Creedence Clearwater Revival while borrowing Tom Waits’ ability to perfectly paint a scene. How else do you explain a line like “. . .went in the attic and liberated a slot machine”?
“Wandering Boots”: Now that’s some screaming rockabilly! It has a manifesto feeling. “A place to lay my head, and a drink to do me right. I am just a vagabond staying here tonight.” The wailing and whispering background vocals lend perfect run-screeching-through-the-woods-because-that’s-what-life-requires feeling.
Full of gorgeous and quirky images, “Sara Beth” is a different take on an old-style ballad. Southerners have an instinctive pull towards the Gothic and death. Chamomile and Whiskey indulge this attraction. The undying love evidently goes very wrong, but you have a feeling that his last thought was “My love for you is an Alaskan summer night. . .it ain’t never gonna grow dark, no matter where I am.”
“Inverness” is the second song with a CCR feel, and it has a strong feeling of rock from the ’60’s. It is also full of Chamomile and Whiskey’s signature gorgeous lyrics: “Like an actress in a silent play, she can live her life beneath a muted gaze.” The cacophony of the instrumentation adds to the feeling of chaos and desperation in life that sometimes requires dramatic responses.
“Second Lullaby” doesn’t seem like it will put anyone to sleep, but with “bourbon by the bed” I guess there’s always hope. “Her dress soaking wet, dripping with regret” is yet another line from the album I will repeat to myself because it is perfect.
Wandering Boots has a tenderness toward pain while encouraging listeners to grab life by the unmentionables and live like tomorrow is not promised–and don’t sit still, because the music is in you and it must be expressed.
If Emmylou Harris, Townes Van Zandt, and Lucinda Williams decided to pool their musical DNA, their creation wouldn’t be far from Mary Gauthier. Bluesy melancholy and dramatic imagery are throughout her songs, with a downhome delivery that Hank Williams would be proud to claim. Her album Trouble and Love covers heartbreak, loneliness, and survival with twang, resignation, empathy, and hope.
The album starts with “When a Woman Goes Cold” with a theme that will become familiar. The aching feeling of knowing too late that love has gone, and the loneliness of the aftermath. Who has not felt the pang when you realize “you’re no longer her concern” and that the one you built a world around simply does not care anymore?
“False From True” backtracks to the disintegrating relationship, to the moment when “a stranger showed up in your eyes.” The music is heartbreaking in its simplicity, reminiscent of some of John Prine’s best work. The quiet gentle sound eases into your heart and mind, and the lines “I tried, I tried, but I could not break through/There’s two of you and one don’t feel” hit you right in your heart.
“Trouble and Love,” which shares the album’s name, has the same simple writing. “Friends say walk on; it’s more trouble than it’s worth/But my will is gone and my head hangs low/It ain’t the leaving, it’s the way you go” show a person broken, in the middle of the worst of a breakup.
Things can only go up from here, and Gauthier reflects on that in “Oh Soul.” Referencing Robert Johnson’s famous deal with the devil in exchange for musical talent, she says on her website “If anyone would understand the sorrow of selling one’s soul, it would be Robert Johnson. So a visit to his grave, searching for redemption, in solidarity and prayer, in hopes of connecting with the spirit of a fellow traveller during a hard time, a time of deep questioning, well, it just makes sense…” Her tempo goes up ever so slightly, and a soft optimism whispers into the music even while the lyrics reflect her fear of having lost herself in her destroyed relationship. But while the previous songs dwelt on her lost love, here she’s going inward, thinking about what she’s lost, and her desire to reclaim herself, crying “Redemption, redemption/Have mercy on me”.
“What is the process by which deep and mighty blows deepen us, open us, make us better people? How does calamity and deep pain create deep empathy?” So Gauthier muses on her blog post about “Worthy.” The music is quiet, and a touching humility runs together with a growing triumph as the song progresses. She touches on the part of loss that gives strength, and how the process of grieving opens a new view of herself: “Left stumbling in the dark, I had to go within/So I traced my scars, back to where I’d been/A diamond in the dirt, perfectly concealed.”
In a break-up, or any loss for that matter, once you let yourself feel your pain and begin to grow through it, you are able to look around at the people who have hurt you and give them release as well. Gauthier perfectly catches that feeling in “Walking Each Other Home.” Looking back at her hurt, she’s able to be kindly resigned. “Ain’t for me to say what’s bad or good/In the end/I know we did the best we could. . .[and] we’re all just walking each other home.” This song is my favorite of the album.
If she had ended the album here, she would have had a great progression of a breakup. But as anyone who has experienced a painful loss knows too well, accepting the loss is only the beginning. You have to learn to live without the person you loved, with the changed situation–and that lesson is sometimes slow and painful. In “How You Learn to Live Alone” she unflinchingly describes the numbness of living past loss. “You’re not here, but you’re still there/The sun goes up, the sun goes down/And you’re not sure you care” is one of the best descriptions of the long days putting one foot in front of the other, surviving until your life is something you want again. It’s part of the process, and “It don’t feel right, but it’s not wrong.”
And one day you want to live again. Sadder, wiser, you still want to reach out one more time. Your steps may be hesitant, your view may not be as sunny as before, but you find yourself “Moving on through the pain. . ./Waiting on/Another train.”
The album features many co-writers, including Gretchen Peters, Beth Nielsen Chapman, Scott Nolan, and Ben Glover. It is available on vinyl and as a cd on her website and as an MP3 download on CDBaby.