Richmond Fontaine's The Fitzgerald

I've been shut in for a couple of days now because of Tropical Storm Fay. This gave me some time to go through some past CDs and play some that I might have forgotten about.

In the past few years, there have been several great albums that have stripped down songwriting to its core, most recently Bon Iver's masterpiece For Emma, Forever Ago. This is always a risky venture: some bands, even great ones, need thick instrumentation to hide a shaky voice and inconsistent lyric writing behind. Case and point: Wilco's last record. I love Wilco, but does anybody want to hear Jeff Tweedy's voice front and center for forty minutes?

The closest thing I've heard to the stripped down haunting starkness of Bruce Springsteen's Nebraska recently is a 2005 record called The Fitzgerald by Richmond Fontaine. Nobody bought it and no critics cared, but it seems like this has the makings of an alt-country cult classic.

First of all, they have a singer whose voice redefines the word ragged. He tells middle-American tales of bar fights, guys gone AWOL, domestic violence, murder, and losers trying to redeem themselves at casinos. The album is largely performed on acoustic guitar, but other instruments seem to sweep in at the right time: the violin of "Casino Lights", the piano on "Incident At Conklin Creek" and the drums on "Exit 194B" are used just in the right measure.

The use of tempo in this album is what makes the Nebraska comparisons work. The first two tracks are slow and harrowing; it almost feels like they are trying to get uncommitted listeners to quit on the album. "Welhorn Yards" matches the bleakness of Springsteen's serial killer tale "State Trooper". Toward the end of the album, the upbeat and hopeful "Don't Look Back And It Won't Hurt" feels like redemption for the album's lost characters.

Give thing one a try; it might become a cult classic yet.

Be safe, Florida. Hurricane season is almost over!