Cass McCombs – Mangy Love

Must have gotten lucky. My copy's two discs are clean with no surface noise; both discs are very flat. Have not wet-cleaned these either. Unfortunately production issues are rampant these days, even with new LPs that cost well over the resale price of this album.

Really fantastic pressing, the colour is super nice as well

This release was my first approach to McCombs' work and hypnotized me since the first listen. "Rancid Girl" was the track that made me look for more, and every time I listen to this record I find something new and get lost between the guitar lines' textures. I also feel it necessary to emphasize the calm that his voice transmits to me.

I have had three copies of this, two on black and one on blue. Track one Side one has a recurrent noise on all three records. Not going to bother returning (had two replacements from Amazon already) . Who-ever put this through from production to dsitribution needs shot.

The USA & Canada vinyl version 87445-1 is one of the worst manufactured pieces of vinyl I've ever bought. See https://youtu.be/1eTjCEYt6QA

The question I’d like to pose is, ”Is Cass McCombs filling the James Taylor shoes for the 21st century?” Though as quickly as one considers that notion “Rancid Girl” floats in, harking back to images of John Lennon’s “Come Together,” and I sit here re-evaluating his murky delivery, his dark haunting visions and his austere sonic probings.

On a whole, these sonic probings infuse elements of Philadelphia soul that are laced with gentle Grateful Dead vibes, all seemingly designed for greeting the day, or perhaps closing it down. That being said, if you know the lyrics, and even more, the backstory to many of these songs, they come off as more than uncomfortable, bordering on the disingenuous, if it were not for his nomadic humor and surreal imagery that could have been ripped straight from any tabloid rag.

I’ve been preached to and lectured in song for more years than I care to remember, yet never has this been done so pointedly, referencing so many important issues, and so tenderly delivered at the same time, as if what he’s singing about is merely an afterthought left to hang in the air after he’s left the room. Without these lyrics, this music would easily be waved off as lightweight easy going adult contemporary sounds, though (laughing) perhaps one should vision Mangy Love as music for evolved contemporary adults with a social consciousness. Yet still, if it’s one’s goal to root through the garbage of our society in order to expose the ugliness that dwells so close to our front doors, I begin to wonder how much of this anyone can take, or who would wish to immerse themselves so thoroughly in that unpleasantness. In short, if you like what you’re hearing on this record, then you’re probably not listening.

There are no guitar solos, no surprises other than the lyrics, nothing really to focus on, leaving listeners with little to do but to listen closely. McCombs presents the image of someone intricate, someone who rejects the exemplifications of modern capitalism by presenting himself as being neurotically scrupulous … though I wonder if faced with success and the luxury of a BMW, he’d merely use it as a space in which to overdose in Golden Gate State Park in order to make a statement.

All and all, the album exists on many levels, it’s a record fused with a dreamy organ, rhythmic pulses, catchy nimble lyrical and instrumental phrasings, where all of this seems to resonate from within a soul of madness, though whether that soul belongs to Cass McCombs or reflects the soul of his listeners is difficult to say, as once the record is heard as a conceptual whole, where all of its parts are laid bare across the floor, one must embrace it for all it is, all it isn’t, and the implications strewn at the feet of those who would choose to continue to spin this album more than once.

Review by Jenell Kesler