James McMurtry – Saint Mary Of The Woods

This just says it all. "Corporate relo refugees that need love too." I have some friends in Richardson TX that fit that profile.

The context of the album is rather straight forward, though McMurtry has a knack for the obvious, the vexation for life that seems to belong to James and James alone, here inspired by the cheapness of the new that displaces the old, the changing of the world that seems to have little reverence for what once was.

With all of the material from James McMurtry not standing on equal footing, it’s still impossible fo me not to speak of him without a bit of reverence sneaking in around the edges, where lyrics aside, he’s a master of a guitar player, especially here on St. Mary Of The Woods, where he’s assembled his road band for this outing, proving that it’s simply impossible not to be too tight. Even hearing James right in front of you, he’s nearly impossible to read, where you never know if he’s having a bit of fun at your expense or if he’s laying down some divine truth that you might wanna consider reacting to. If anything, he’s brilliantly economical with his communication, where everything thing is paired down to only that which is essentially important, then delivers those lyrics with a deadpan expression as if he’s locked into an inner secret, describing what’s going on in his house (head), but never allowing you in. Of course this is point is proven by his friend Graham who recalls, “I went to a mutual friend of James and mine and said, ‘I don’t know why he doesn’t like me,’ and he said, ‘What do you mean?’ I said, ‘He’s maybe said 100 words to me in a year and a half,’ and he said, ‘100 words? Jesus Christ, he loves you!’”

On a whole, James packs into his songs with vividness, fury and a gut wrenching wallop. His music is a perfect blend of folk, country and rock, bending morphing and using it all, while fusing it all together perfectly. Without a doubt his music has a barbed wire tautness that propels his songs to their conclusions, all while he sings with a ferocity in the midst of wind that is blowing at him straight in the face. His songs are complete short stories in themselves that are enhanced, amplified and spurred on by the music in a remarkably effective manner … one of the most relentless and successful marriages of words and music to have come along since forever. Which in support of that I’d say, “Just settle down and listen to ‘Choctaw Bingo’, where if you don’t immediately play the track again, you’ve earned the right to tell me I’m wrong.”

*** The Fun Facts: The album’s title was taken from a sign James saw while on tour, up around Terre Haute and the Wabash River.

Review by Jenell Kesler