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Lost Dogs
Nazarene Crying Towel
Can you endure the violent emotions of other believers? Does real humanity
scare and frighten you, as if you are a child, as if you are so comfortable
with your worldly trappings your religious beliefs have never been tested?
What do you have to project on to what you don't understand or despise to be
able to socially or psychologically reject it? What sort of purity are you
really being called to -- do you know? Could you just be spiritually
immature, a mere *runt* in belief, or has your heart been calloused by its
own sin?
"Worry was the way she loved," singer/songwriter Terry Taylor says of his
late grandmother, a woman with intense faith and a crackling mind who knew
the joys of the spirit as well as the shadows of life's valleys, and whose
strange lamentation ritual inspired the title of this powerful, beautiful
new Lost Dogs album.
Sometimes believers "act out" in strange-looking ways from their deep
repentance and desire for a sense of grace, and the extremely touching
narrative in Taylor's liner notes describing his grandmother's use of a
towel to spin out her fear and trembling is worth the price of the CD alone.
But if you never listen to the twelve tracks of this, the Lost Dogs' sixth
album (the third for BEC), you will be missing music just as affecting, at
least as emotionall compelling. Taylor might be a fabulous writer (as you
probably know from his past columns for HM, let alone his fascinating
extrapolations on faith and art and life on the various Daniel Amos, Lost
Dogs, and affiliated websites -- all bands he has a primary hand in), but he
is an essential performer and songsmith, and Nazarene Crying Towel is
proof that he is indeed getting better as he ages.
His vocals have come to terms with the diverse styles he mastered musically
over the years, from '70s apocalyptic country rock to 80s wave noir to 90s
protest pop skronk (and just about every other genre), and now he seems to
feel most at ease singing the heartland Gospel devotionals and clever social
observations recorded here. These are literally his best vocals for many of
his lyrics -- for example, the uptempo stark moment of clarity melodically
described in "Deeper In The Heart" -- and the musicianship in this new era
of the Dogs since signing to BEC is now reflecting the ebullient
magnificence of their not-to-be-missed live shows.
But wait a second -- so much about Taylor, and here Mike Roe (the
Seventy-Sevens) and Derry Daugherty (the Choir) increase their splendid
participation, singing as much as Taylor and writing more than the last
couple albums. One can now see how Taylor was trying to shape the band on
"Gift Horse" and "Real Men Cry," whereupon the far-too-soon absence of the
late Gene Eugene inspired the Lost Dogs to celebrate his powerful influence
by stripping back the novelty and kicking out the rural jams and pure
tumbleweed blues.
Roe is arguably one of rock's finest vocalists -- at times, his voice sends
chills up me like no one else since Roy Orbison or Ian Curtis -- and he and
Derri's lovely singing imbues these tracks with more depth and soul than
possibly any other record you'll hear this year. What a combination. I am
utterly lifted by how everything comes together on this album, with the
tightness of the involved artists' regular rock bands, but the compelling
melancholy of a new Johnny Cash or Steve Earle. (The adept instrumental
assistance given by bassist Tim Chandler of DA and Steve Hindalong of the
Choir, along with Phil Madeira's sublime production, really shines it all to
near perfection.)
I could have possibly used another punchy "Deeper In The Heart" sort-of
track, but the record also includes the stark yet blissful "Darkest Night,"
which gets so close to musical art it ranks with Richard & Linda Thompson,
and Roe's brooding and gripping "Cry Out Loud."
If you love really honest American roots and country soul music with an open
spirit, enjoy the raw lyrical sincerity of post-punk country artists like
those on the Bloodshot label, dig the true rock and roll soul of Petty's and
Springsteen's best work, and/or wish Wilco was less cerebral and more about
the song, don't hesitate buying Nazarene Crying Towel.
Forget that this is the same label that tried to swindle you out of money
for "Swing Praise" and Cadet. Wipe off whatever you remember about this
band or any other bands that Taylor, Roe, and Daugherty have been involved
in. This Nazarene Crying Towel can stand on its own, and doesn't need the word "come back." Talent this true will never really go away. The runts of
this world will never bring it down. [BEC Recordings/ Chris Estey]
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