JON SNODGRASS “Visitor’s Band”
It has been a DRAG THE RIVER kind-of fort night at Pastepunk. Last week I reviewed Bad at Breaking Up, a posthumous country compilation from the recently broken-up Colorado boys. Lead singer JON SNODGRASS’ soft twang is the highlight of that disc, and upon completing the defunct band’s review, I was sad I wouldn’t hear it grace new DRAG THE RIVER material. Then later that day, I discovered an email from Suburban Home Records containing Snodgrass’ first solo-offering Visitor’s Band, and I’m glad to say it’s equally, if not more fulfilling than Bad at Breaking Up.
Visitor’s Band should be divided into two categories: rocking as hell and calm and tragic, like birds chirping atop a grave yard sycamore.
The relaxing side is pleasantly sad. Sometimes you just want to feel down and have your tunes reflect that, which is what Visitor’s Band does. The disc starts off with “Brave With Strangers,” a slow country-number, shadowed with dark-arpeggio jangles, and Snodgrass’ bitter lyrical observations: “I’m grown up enough to know / that you ruined everything.” Snodgrass’ melancholy folk has many faces. “Thru The Fan” is a bouncy acoustic ditty that kicks up the tempo without raising the volume. Snodgrass’ nasal voice manipulates the words to fit the melody; they slide together and drawl out to almost incoherence. Sometimes it’s more about his serene pitch than the lyrics, and who cares if a few words get lost because it sounds so nice.
But while much of Visitor’s Band is blue, the album succeeds because it does not dwell in sorrow. The third track, “Remember My Name,” rocks like BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN on Darkness on the Edge of Town. The song’s pounding back-beat and palm-muted distortion lifts you up where previous tracks pulled you down. The music flips a complete bitch from mournful embellishments to ragged guitar solos, and Snodgrass trades his whispery bellow for a gruff, Boss-like howling chorus. The album isn’t dominated by an overbearing single emotion, keeping the sad parts from becoming depressing, and the rockin’ songs from feeling overpowering. The album continues half destroyed, the other raging, “Not That Rad” falling in the latter category. It recalls the power of HUSKER DU, moved along by power-chords and Snodgrass’ best BOB MOULD impression; I have never made that connection before, but the song recalls the catchy-noise of Candy Apple Grey so strongly, it’s an association I won’t easily forget.
Visitor’s Band is a great record. It is tender when you’re feeling forlorn, and when sulking gets old, the upbeat rockers pull you up by your tear-soaked collar and push you onto the dance floor. This album makes me feel less upset that I missed DRAG THE RIVER’s existence, and fans of the aforementioned, as well as LUCERO and early WILCO, would be crazy not to give it a listen.
Suburban Home
