Darwin
taught us that evolution is a beautiful thing, and Kelly Joe Phelps
has kept that lesson alive. Through 10 years and four albums he's progressed
from free-jazzer to bluesman, slide-guitar spiritualist and, now, poignant
storyteller. Phelps has left his solo format to employ Tom Waits' bassist
Larry Taylor and Morphine drummer Billy Conway on these 10 poetic songs
- all character studies that use hard-chiseled details to evoke delicate,
shifting emotions. He's also abandoned his trademark slide guitar for
a more subtle kind of acoustic virtuosity that spins lovely little
melodies and gently propulsive arpeggios into every corner of the music.
What he's found along the way is a knack for describing a watch and
an apartment that says volumes about his sweet, slow and suicidal charcter "Tommy",
and stepping into the lives of lost souls in "Taylor John".
There's newfound freedom in his dusty voice, too, which sails into
ghost-whisper falsettos and growls like a blundering, injured lion
as his lyrics demand. That plus the rambling, rhythmic support often
invokes Waits, but without the rust and the rat traps. The result is
textured, pure, noble and moving. Call it art. ****
Darwin
taught us that evolution is a beautiful thing, and Kelly Joe Phelps
has kept that lesson alive. Through 10 years and four albums he's progressed
from free-jazzer to bluesman, slide-guitar spiritualist and, now, poignant
storyteller. Phelps has left his solo format to employ Tom Waits' bassist
Larry Taylor and Morphine drummer Billy Conway on these 10 poetic songs
- all character studies that use hard-chiseled details to evoke delicate,
shifting emotions. He's also abandoned his trademark slide guitar for
a more subtle kind of acoustic virtuosity that spins lovely little
melodies and gently propulsive arpeggios into every corner of the music.
What he's found along the way is a knack for describing a watch and
an apartment that says volumes about his sweet, slow and suicidal charcter "Tommy",
and stepping into the lives of lost souls in "Taylor John".
There's newfound freedom in his dusty voice, too, which sails into
ghost-whisper falsettos and growls like a blundering, injured lion
as his lyrics demand. That plus the rambling, rhythmic support often
invokes Waits, but without the rust and the rat traps. The result is
textured, pure, noble and moving. Call it art. ****