•
Rating:
I recently read, as decreed by an anonymous commentator in some endless "debaserian" dispute, that it is absurd for a song, an album to be liked or considered valuable only for the story—often tragically sad and despairing—that lies behind their troubled origin. But, I add for the sake of thoroughness, that it is, indeed should be, the raw and unadulterated material, the sole artwork to speak for itself, to unleash the emotions that inspired its Author to conceive and forge it from Nothing; moreover, in this "process" of self-revelation, it is also desirable, I would say even essential, that the listener's sentiment, us humble listeners in this case, finds its space, as we bring in our own, our little even insignificant experiences, sensations, and sometimes beneficial "ignorances" as non-professional critics while exploring its deeper meanings.
And finally, I come to speak of Alejandro Escovedo, an American singer-songwriter unknown to many, whose personal events I inevitably learned before listening to his work, which, sad but true, would be even more obscure and forgotten without his recent misfortunes. Escovedo, now middle-aged, collapsed in 2003 during a tour due to that dreadful infection known as Hepatitis C; indeed, the fame he earned in roughly twenty-five years of his career was evidently not enough to cover the medical expenses to save his life, a life-saving measure that, in America, has a precise value in dollars.
It is superfluous to note that the one to give him a decisive helping hand was not the governor of his birth state (Texas…!) but a considerable circle of musician friends who had known and admired his worth for years: figures of the caliber of Calexico, Cowboy Junkies, Vic Chesnutt, Howe Gelb, and especially the great John Cale, who in 2004 released an astonishing tribute album to the songs of the unfortunate overseas singer-songwriter and succeeded in the feat of saving his life. And he, this minstrel with a rather slender build and the clean facial features that somewhat resemble a South American Inca, somewhat the native American Indian of old, was reborn, oh yes, he was reborn. Because this all-American album oozes from every passage with an intense "lust for life", a Life that, far from being exalted with naive fervor, is captured in its epic drama with that all-American sentiment of wanting to face its joys and sorrows without hesitation, with pride and passion. And a better supreme supervisor of this rebirth could not have been John Cale, producer, arranger, discoverer, and genius at enhancing the greatest of the past century (Nick Drake and Patti Smith to name two) who knew how to measure the contribution of top-notch musicians in accompanying Escovedo's songs; whose style cannot be reduced to a single denominator but manages to express itself with flurries of eternal rock 'n' roll (recalling his "cow-punk" past), the unrestrained boogie of "Break This Time" with a fantastic string interlude or "Sacramento & Polk", a quasi-grunge worthy of the best Neil Young, and with equal strength through more meditative folk and pop cadences, as in the poignant marching tempo title-track, or the touching love ballad complete with accordion, "The Ladder". It is only the time of the sinister and mysterious sound of the keyboards that begins the dark and captivating "Arizona" to feel it, raw and naked… the…
Loading comments slowly
