On first listen you get the impression The Lonesome Troubadour would like to teach the world to sing. But in less than perfect harmony. In fact, this album opens with a sun-dappled, but ever so slightly warped take on “The Coca Cola Song.”
An unsolicited CD arrives in the mail with next to no information. Is the label, Rather Ripped Records, a clue, pointing back to the old mail order outlet for obscure LPs—or is that just a coincidence? This 11-song album is a collection of tunes stripped to the barest elements—vocal and spare nylon-strung acoustic guitar with sound effects. The stark chords only serve to magnify the unflinching feel.
This is not someone’s demos captured on an iPhone. It is a quality recording done at National Recording Studio. Jandek, the reclusive Texas folksinger comes to mind. A cover of Warren Zevon’s “Carmelita” features wailing sirens off in the distance. It is cinematic, like if Sam Peckinpah made a documentary.
The accompanying DVD provides few clues other than (presumably) the Troubadour himself performing, sometimes masked, on a bench in Bay View’s South Shore Park. The images and sound combine, in a decidedly lysergic bent. whatever the original intent might have been, this is one intriguing message in a bottle.
