Chalk it up to the warm weather and cheap drugs or blame it on Buffalo Springfield, but L.A. grinds out its share of guitar-toting folkies. Recalling L.A.'s early folk days, former Colour guitarist and songwriter Luke MacMaster's Romany Rye has picked up what his Laurel canyon counterparts left behind and wandered down a dusty new path. This album is an eight-chapter narrative of despair, love and everything in between, and it's as compelling as old time religion.
Ler mais
Chalk it up to the warm weather and cheap drugs or blame it on Buffalo Springfield, but L.A. grinds out its share of guitar-toting folkies. Recalling L.A.'s early folk days, former Colour guitarist and songwriter Luke MacMaster's Romany Rye has picked up what his Laurel canyon counterparts left behind and wandered down a dusty new path. This album is an eight-chapter narrative of despair, love and everything in between, and it's as compelling as old time religion. From the very first track, "Brother",- a cautionary tale of deceit-I almost guarantee you'll find yourself humming along as an organ slowly bleeds into MacMaster's vocals. "Dear Holly" effuses even more Southern charm, treating us to country twang and perhaps even a washboard. MacMaster's deep-hearted poetry can mesmerize you after a few lines, as with the closing track, "Untitled (Love Song)," The song plays like a high-school ballad, reminding everyone about that one (or in some cases, two) who got away. I picture Highway 1, Looking Back Carefully rattling some dilapidated jukebox while some poor souls peer into their drinks and ponder what their lives have become. Hell, I think I need a drink now.
