Ray LaMontagne
Gossip In The Grain

If I were a music journalist, specifically one of those who: "cannot write who interview people who cannot speak for people who cannot read" (cfr. zio Frankie), I would start by stating that, after two excellent albums, it was only logical to expect Ray LaMontagne to produce a masterpiece in 2008. What nonsense! Not even Tonino Guerra, with all the optimism of the fragrance of life, could have imagined that Ray would reach perfection so soon.

 Not that the previous two albums were bad, quite the opposite ("Till the Sun Turns Black" is a spectacular record). It's just that "Gossip in the Grain" is truly a masterpiece, one of those albums that grow on you listen after listen, and then you want to hear it again; in short, one of those that will never tire you. With his unkempt beard and flannel shirt, the shy and solitary character that leads him to live a spartan life with his family, the former cobbler from Maine, who was struck on the road to Damascus by a Stephen Stills song heard on the radio, manages to tell ten stories, each more beautiful than the last. They immediately brought up illustrious comparisons: Van Morrison, John Martyn, Tim Buckley. In my opinion, Ray LaMontagne is a rare commodity in today's music scene because his uniquely grained voice can create an atmosphere that feels like déjà vu, yet you wouldn't know exactly where this sense of déjà vu comes from. Perhaps the characteristic that links him to those overwhelming names is the ability to maintain an exceptionally high emotional level throughout the album, creating a "signature blend" that doesn't dwindle in any of the ten tracks.

First of all, he enjoys confusing ideas with the lively opening track "You Are The Best Thing", driven by a bold horn section, Stax-style backing vocals, and him singing like Van the Man at his best. After the initial burst, the rest of the album encloses itself in a masculine intimacy that is never self-serving. Moving ballads ("Let it Be Me") with a masterful interpretation suspended like a trembling leaf under the weight of frost scattered by a delicate string arrangement, sometimes overcome by string instruments (such as the ukulele) like in the beautiful "Sarah", which has the breath of epic stories of strong feelings like the taste of a liquor aged in wooden barrels and brought out for the occasion. The ghost of the great Scotsman (John Martyn) is evoked by compositions that tangle along spirals of trembling smoke ("I still care for you"). Here Ray's voice has the same way of enchanting as the Guv'nor: a dark whisper that no instrument will ever be able to reproduce. Even when he picks up the acoustic guitar for the long ballad "Winter Birds", which doesn't need Ethan Johns' enveloping and at the same time soft production, Ray succeeds in captivating with a song that stays in your heart.

 An intimate album, you say? Yes, but so mature that it can speed up for fun, as in the track dedicated to his infatuation with "Meg White" of the White Stripes, or in the country "Hey me Hey mama", which starts amidst laughter and continues to make a racket in the courtyard between banjo and trombone chords; or again like the black blues of "Henry Nearly Killed Me", which has the nervous tempo and breath of a steam locomotive wobbling on the tracks and puffing through the harmonica. Again, everything calms down with the splendid "A Falling Through", which is one of the most beautiful songs I have come across lately. A gem whose light is given by the pedal steel and Ray's magnificent voice, which passes through our chest to extract the heart and then opens his fist to show us that, despite everything, it still beats.

Don't worry, a moment later he will put it back. It will work better than before.