CD Review
Greg Brown-One Night- Greg Brown,
Red House Records, 2000
…he came out of the heartlands, smack
in the heart of the many-rivered heartlands, the place where America learned its
rough-hewn democratic manners, learned to do without in a pitch, learned to
lean, gently lean, on one’s goodfellow neighbor and return the favor, and
learned to curse the world that impinged on its graces. Yah, he came of age out
in those fields, corn, wheat, soy, barley, hell, even a strawberry patch, came
out swinging, came out all Carl Sandburg hog butcher to the world, grain elevator
to the world, mighty steel- maker to the world to sing, troubadour sing, just
at that time when the earth had given up on troubadours, and their sing-song material,
had given up on smoky meaningful Village cafes and smart North Beach hip hideaways,
and gave that art form, that blessed angel democratic art form, ready to go under
in a torrent of hubris and bad air a reprieve for a time.
And he sang, sang and wrote, and
sang again of those heartland woes, sorrows, sadnesses, and joys, of coming of
age, of grandma this and aunt that, and of their bounty and natural graces, of kindred
Ozark hillbilly forbears heading west, of their moons and mishaps, of their rivers
and wrongs, of old town life, livable town life, folded up in the night and
vanished, of his father, image father, speaking of hillbillies, of walking
daddy and of becoming walking daddies. Of fresh floundering love, all
experimental and awkward, played out in grassy fields, along two-hearted rivers,
and later in back seat cars and teenage dream lovers’ lanes, and every other spot
where young love could blossom.
He cried out, cried out in pain I
tell you, to see the despoliation of his land, to see the crooks and crackpots
grabbing greedily for all that they did not create, to see the fading of the
American, his American, sun for he could unlike others love his country if no those
who governed it. Of the glue of society coming undone against the savage beast mall,
the savage beast armies of destruction, the savage beast ultra-modern ways of
thinking, ways of negating and mocking those simple child-learned graces. He sang
too, maybe just a bit too much too, of Michigan, really UP, ur-Michigan, of
fishing, damn blasted fishing, and some curled up book life as way to salve his
soul. So be it.
And he sang, and let’s be candid in
a non-candid world, of women, of every blessed angel devil one of them, of man’s
woman woes and wonders, of sleepy and sweaty bed sheet nights, of armed truces,
and unarmed truces, and flat out wars, wars that made international wars seem
civilized by contrast, of modern day psych-outs and spills, of cheap hotel
loves fortified by liquor, and fortified by desperate lonelinesses, of
elegances and elegies, and of torrid love, and dead ashen flames of love gone
off the track that no UP, no big two-hearted river, no Missouri grandma wisdom could save.
… and hence this album
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