This is the story of the incredible shrinking band; a cult group whose profile is so low it hurts. The downstate Illinois quartet Souled American had moved to Chicago by the late ‘80s. The band’s sound, a difficult to peg distillation (molasses-slow bluegrass and dub reggae?) found them signed to the American branch of cutting-edge London-based label Rough Trade, for whom the group recorded its initial run of four albums. A memorable UW-Milwaukee show in 1989 opening for Camper Van Beethoven found the headliner’s audience sitting on their hands, wondering what was happening?
Along the way the quartet lost its drummer Jame Barnyard (sic) and guitarist Scott Tuma, leaving bassist Joe Adducci and guitarist Chris Grigoroff (both vocalists) as the band continued as a duo. A German label released a pair of albums in the mid-‘90s and a San Francisco record store/label launched a limited reissue of the first four albums for posterity. Then came a chorus of crickets.
Yet, among the crickets, the cult band’s influence was undulating like ripples from a stone tossed into a pond. Jeff Tweedy of Wilco called “Before Tonight” the one song he wishes he wrote.
As vinyl and cassettes were replaced by CDs which were in turn exterminated by streaming, one thing never changed: Souled American’s music remained an intensely personal choice. Sure, fans of the band were few and far between. But like that pebble in your show, a reminder of the music was always as near. A few diehard fans plastered posters around Manhattan, N.Y. which were later collected as the chapbook, 50 Posters about Souled American.
Glacially paced, Souled American’s new collection Rise Above It offers 20 songs that suggest the band was playing a version of alternative country that today sounds like an alternative to alt-country.
If the accepted notion is that a band typically evolves over time, Souled American seems to be a musical version of entropy. “Full Picture” blurbles out of the gate like a sideways Grateful Dead lost track, with lyrics “Benny Goodman, he’s a good man,” and “Wind to Dry” moves like a stately church hymn sung by a small congregation in dusty wooden pews—with Tuma’s Twilight Zone steel guitar and Adducci’s accordeon supporting Grigoroff’s creaking vocal. The throb of “True Swamp Too” is balanced by the folk-pop genius of the delicate, left field “Heyday,” a musical ode to hay fever.
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In their own way Souled American pay homage, if not exactly reverence to their roots. “Little Bessie” decelerates The Stanley Brothers child death tune; “Rock That Cradle Lucy” has spent energy of a 4 a.m. informal jam session. Taken together, these songs are cousins to the music first heard by many on the Harry Smith anthologies. A soulful take on “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain” sounds as if someone thumbed the turntable down to 16rpm.
Regrets? And while none are included here, the band recorded a small handful of charming songs writ by Adducci’s mom, Vicki. Likewise, the keening MIA version of “Soldier’s Joy” is worth seeking out. Make what you will of an artifact, that very title Rise Above It may have been a smoke signal. Souled American began playing low key shows and released new music.
Get Rise Above It at Amazon here.
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