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Reviews for
Amsterdam
©2001, Truckstop Records #Alp323/Truck23
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At first, I thought the Lofty Pillars reminded me of the Pinetop Seven.
Then I thought they reminded me of Lambchop, but without the syrupy quality. For the length of one track, they reminded me of John Wesley Harding-era Bob Dylan. Finally, I realized that I was grasping at straws, because this band is too good at too many things. At best, the above catalogue of near-miss comparisons can put you in the right ballpark of talent; none really capture what makes this group unique.
The four men who make up the core of this band are clearly old hands at songwriting -- the kind of group that doesn't need to wear their talents as a badge. Many of the best aspects of these songs exist on the periphery. Wil Hendricks sings half of the tracks with a beautiful, high tenor; Michael Krassner's vocals have a plainspoken, Dylanesque quality that makes each line sound like a confession. Each song is a narrative, each has been carefully honed and each is deserving of "classic" status in its own way. The band's press material refers to this album as "caught somewhere between Europe and America", but their sound clearly reaches to the blues, folk, and country that defines musical Americana. If Flannery O'Connor wrote songs, she would write these.
Part of the group's appeal lies in the fact that they use basically the same instruments (acoustic guitars, piano, strings and sometimes drums), yet create entirely different textures for each song. In "Amsterdam", the strings take top billing, lifting a sad story into graceful elegy. "Roll Down" brings a forceful piano line to the fore, pulling the tempo along shamblingly, driving the instruments in its wake. The album continues in this fashion, shading instrumentation and vocals subtly, never quite masking the minor chords on which these songs are built:
"It was four years / and forty days ago / That she left / her home in Indiana / and headed to the East / Into the belly of the beast / Crying for her mother's arms / tonight"
The effect of all of this is strangely comforting; tales this rife with rape, poison and death on the "field of honor" rarely make one feel this good. It's as if all of these songs were already old when written, as though the tragedies and disappointments they narrate lie safely in the past. The tragedies are cathartic, the dead are at peace, and we are all richer for having heard them.
-- Brett McCallon, Splendid E-Zine
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