While the most tried-and-true way to say "I'm a serious American roots artist" is to book Emmylou Harris to sing backup, a close second is to get T-Bone Burnett to be your producer.
While Say Goodbye is no
straightforward salute to Memphis, soul is as good a word as any for this quiet, strange but above all groovy little record.
It's fine to eschew traditional bluegrass for intricate pop, but playing the latter with strict string-band instrumentation just sounds kind of gimmicky.
The Ohio spudboys return with their first album in 20 years, and the sharp songcraft and sharper social commentary haven't dulled a bit.
On his 17th album, Wilcox tries a bold experiment: he records in front of a live audience, but without applause punctuating each tune.
In order not to repeat history, it is not enough to know it,we must know ourselves, and our complicity. —Schilling
Some days you have to take what you canget, and that day my mother was too sickto find yet one more crowded pavement caféand the worst of it was, sitting there inmy habit, I had to see it all unfold: the tiredcouple with their small child, the empty tableand the promise of refreshment, and thenthe waiter descending in a blaze of jeers,scathing looks and torrid gestures, and watchthe husband and wife gather their dignityand leave, unwelcome only for the offenseof resembling too much the enemy du jourand I had nowhere to go to, nowhere tohide my shame, no means of protest whenthe waiter returned and served us sweetly,set the coffee before me, and the only wayI could ask is a veil any better than a chador?was to say, simply, Dankeschön
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