Jeff McCord on the month’s new releases
Okkervil River
Jagjaguwar
Will Sheff, the force behind Austin’s Okkervil River, is not one to take baby steps. He conceives the band’s music in broad, ambitious strokes, and if what he hears in his head is beyond his vocal range, no matter. He goes for it. At first his yelping had a “little engine that could” quality to it, but as he’s learned to work within his limitations, this overreaching has given the group a thrilling and formidable determination. The Stage Names (Jagjaguwar) could not be more dissimilar to the last Okkervil album: It’s as rollicking and driving as Black Sheep Boy was creepy and ominous. Sheff still spills out wordy, stream-of-consciousness lyrics, but this time they’re closer to playful than ponderous. It’s a smart, deliberate move, and it yields great results. “A Hand to Take Hold of the Scene” plays like a pop hit; “Unless It’s Kicks” drives hard for the joy of it (“What gives this mess some grace unless it’s kicks”). There’s not a dud here, and after four albums, the band continues to make big leaps forward. This one is its boldest yet.
Lyle Lovett
Lost Highway
These days, listening to a new album is like hovering above a city in a helicopter: The experience might be spectacular, but eventually you want to feel as if you’re headed somewhere. It’s easy to forget how fresh Lovett’s gospelized country-swing sounded when he first burst upon the scene in the mid-eighties—easy because he hasn’t altered his style a whit in the decades since. It’s Not Big It’s Large (Lost Highway), accomplished as it may be, resonates with a sense of déjà vu, even down to the title. Sure, there are moments to savor. “I Will Rise Up” is a trademark Lovett rouser, as is his take on “Ain’t No More Cane”; “All Downhill” is a Randy Newman–esque rumination; and the album’s most honest interlude, “This Traveling Around,” reveals a star in need of rest. But there are also the head-scratchers: the ineffectually tame Lester Young opener, a reprise of one of the weaker songs in the set, and a lot of other roads you’ve been down before. You could argue that Lovett is sticking to what he does best—and you’d be right; his die-hard fans will love the album—but, c’mon, even Willie mixes things up now and then.
Gourds
Yep Roc
Well into their second decade with only the slightest of personnel changes, the Gourds are already beyond the life span of the average band. Their earthy eclecticism has produced an extensive list of classics, and if their albums haven’t always been long on consistency, (Yep Roc) has the feel of rallying the troops. The yin-yang of primary writers Kevin Russell and Jimmy Smith hasn’t always been congruous; Russell’s songs soar effortlessly while Smith’s, if equally rewarding, are knottier and difficult to decipher. But it’s the combination that makes them so special, and on Creatures the Gourds sound more like a band than they have in years. Not the usual knocked-out hullabaloo, this album seems more fussed over—and that’s hardly a bad thing. Russell’s “Promenade” is his best ballad since 1996’s “Web Before You Walk Into It”; Smith’s “A Few Extra Kilos” finds a powerful Dylan/Band groove. On they go, each playing off the other: “Cranky Mulatto,” “Kicks in the Sun,” and so forth. If for some reason you still need proof that this Austin band is a rootsy, esoteric treasure, dig in right here.
Eliza Gilkyson
Eliza Gilkyson
Photograph by Red House Records
The folksinger, a third-generation musician from California who put down roots in Texas long ago, has just released Your Town Tonight (RedHouse), a live album recorded over two nights at Austin’s Cactus Cafe.
Why release a live album now?
Well, I’d never done it. At shows, there isn’t a night that goes by that I’m not asked, “Which of these CDs is more like your show?” The band has been playing for the past five years solid and really knows the songs. And I sing them differently live. In the studio, I’m often just pulling them out for the first time; I really don’t know how to sing them.
I’m surprised to hear you say you feel like live performances are more about the song. It seems to me a lot of live albums I hear (and I don’t really hear this on yours) it’s more about keeping the audience’s attention.
I think what I mean is, it’s about bringing the lyrics to the audience.
Do you sometimes feel, when you go back and listen to these records, that you wish you had waited to record them to begin with?
I feel that way about several of these songs.
It’s interesting to me [that] you recorded a couple of your dad’s songs. Is this something you’ve always done in your live acts or are you kind of rediscovering his music these days?
I think the last three years, I’ve really gotten into my dad’s stuff. It’s so fun to put one of his songs on one of my records (and I have been doing that for a few years), but I think his songs are just so amazing.
Did you feel pressure to play music because you came from such a musical family?
No, I didn’t feel pressured. Quite honestly, there was nothing else I could come close to being able to do. The other wrong reason I wanted to get into it, was that I felt that it was a way to be a social being. So, in that sense, maybe the pressure was about just coming out of my shell. But, no, nobody in my family ever pressured me. My dad was critical, but what I realized later was that he was applying the same standards to himself as he applied to all of us kids.
You seem to have stepped away from the political nature of recent works like your song “Man of God” or your album Land of Milk and Honey.
I’m very political, but I’m starting to see our disease as being deeper than our two-party system. It’s more societal and personal. A song like [Bob Dylan’s] “Jokerman” [on the new album] is a political song to me; it is challenging the listener to look at the folly of man.
What’s your favorite thing on the live record? What are you most proud of?
I really love how “Green Fields” came out. It’s stark and empty, and it’s such a mournful song. I love that. And I love “Jokerman.” I like how it builds.
Your Town Tonight, published by Red House.
