With the recent crop of Americana bands that have come to the fore recently there has been a noticeable increase in different styles coming through. A genre which had lain underground for much of the 80’s and 90’s has seen a new breed discovering the roots of their parent’s album collections. The upshot of this is that we now have a disparate group of musicians and bands who feel free to explore the myth of America and its music and infuse it with their own style. With ‘Graceless Age’, John Murry may have just have managed to raise the bar that little bit higher in what is possibly one of the finest albums ever made.
High praise you may say, and from me who has a different album of the year each week, but this is different. ‘Graceless Age’ is an album which envelopes you in its symphonic sound and takes you down the highways and streets of an America both mythological and contemporary. This is no easy ride, and my god it gets heavy going at times, but stick with it and faith shall be rewarded. Emotions are laid bare and music seeps in to drop you to the lowest depths and then raise you to gospel heights.
It all starts so inauspiciously. Opening track ‘The Ballad of the Pajama Kid’ drifts in like some old time David Crosby song, albeit with vocals that bely the years of singer John Murry. Careworn is not the word here, ravaged may be more apt and this is also a good point to introduce the rest of the album.
As the album progresses you find yourself dragged into a world where brutal honesty is laid bare and the pain of living is encumbered by a will to succeed. Mortality is questioned with particular emphasis on highlight of the album, ‘Little Coloured Balloons’. It is here that you realise that this is a singer who is not afraid to face his faults and we are not talking whimsical Bon Iver crap here, this is Mark Lanegan territory and Murry has lived this.
Ghosts are a recurring theme throughout ‘Graceless Age’ as we drift through the landscape. In almost Tom Jodian imagery we are faced with answers we cannot answer. John asks us if love can help us but is also willing to admit that “what keeps me alive, is gonna kill me in the end”. Stark and brooding, but then this lament is also played out as a country bar song with female backing vocals reminiscent of Emmylou Harris. Indeed, it is maybe in Emmylou’s old friend Gram Parsons that we might find a soul mate for Murry.
Musically the album is a mix of feedback drenched guitars, country honky tonk, slide, blues and folk. All this is mixed in with intricate piano work which sets the scene and helps to move the barrage of sound along. Symphonic is a good word to describe it…apocalyptic country may be better.
As if to further the sense of dislocation, voices drift in and out of the mix. Snatches of conversation, police radios, olde time songs all add to a feeling that we are in a place which is both mythical and contemporary. Banjos may appear out of nowhere only to be met by a soaring guitar solo.
A peak is reached on ‘Southern Sky’ where maybe a salvation is found and the spirit of the south is evoked. Whilst this may have some elements in common with, say Lynyrd Skynyrd’s south, this is more Hank Williams and Carter Family. Gospel reaches out and guitars crash as God, The Devil and John Murry fight it out one last time.
All this means that the ‘Graceless Age’ can be a heavy and demanding listen at times but this is leavened by intervals of pure beauty and grace. The sheer weight of imagery and ideas arising from the lyrics swirl around your head but given time, sense does arrive with the end result being one of the most satisfying Americana albums I have ever heard. A true classic in every way and one that is destined to be heard through the ages. Album of the year, without a doubt.
Out now on Bucketful Of Brains.
Posted by Martyn Coppack.
