[COUNTRY] James Low has his proverbial shit together. After years without inspiration—his 2009 The Blackguard’s Waltz
EP was the first release since what Low calls an “awful” 2004 live
album—the longtime Portland singer-songwriter has a new band, a fiancée,
plans to quit his day job and tour Europe, and a new album out with
another on the horizon. The future looks so bright, in fact, that Low
can hardly focus on his excellent new disc, Whiskey Farmer, which he refers to as “the country record.” “The pop record” is on his mind.
“The pop record is
the first time I shifted gears from exorcisms to being something where I
felt like I had a little more control over myself—where I started
turning into an artist rather than the depressed drunk who wrote songs
in order to not kill himself,” Low says. “A lot of these songs on the
country record are still songs as me, just as a mess.”
Of course, the best country songs are penned by messes, and Whiskey Farmer—a
concept album of sorts about a musician who’s “too much of a fuckup to
be successful in the straight world and not committed enough of a fuckup
to be a rock star”—is loaded with great tunes of varying messiness. The
concept record tag is a bit misleading, because unlike Low’s sometimes
wrist-slittingly dark debut, Mexiquita, and rootsy sophomore effort, Blackheart, Whiskey Farmer
avoids shacking up with a particular sound. Instead, Low’s band—the
Western Front—plays twangy pop of all stripes. The result is a record
that feels less like a mural and more like a stack of postcards sent
from a Western road trip.
Low is quick to
credit his band for the sound, but admits it has taken him years to grow
into the role of bandleader, and despite the fact Low often played with
ace musicians from the LaurelThirst scene where he cut his teeth, the
musical vision wasn’t always clear. “We played this show where the
doorman was like, ‘You guys are awesome—you’re like a cross between Neil
Young and Dave Matthews,’” Low says. “I was ready to quit right there. I
thought, if I’m reminding some dude of Dave Matthews, then I’m just
totally fucked. I’m doing this wrong.”
Low won’t remind anyone of Dave Matthews on Whiskey Farmer,
which finds his songwriting chops and vocals stronger than ever. His
bold-but-warbling voice warms the shambling honky-tonk of “Stars Don’t
Care” and stretches out over the Laurel Canyon-meets-Elliott Smith
ballad “Thinking California.” There’s a little early Elvis Costello
bitterness on “Medicine Show” (“They got a miracle cure that’ll stop
your pain/ But when you run out you won’t ever feel the same/ At the
medicine show”) and more than a hint of Bruce Springsteen on churchy
closer “A Little More Time.”
No matter how wide its stylistic net is cast, Whiskey Farmer feels
focused. And after some years in the wilderness, Low is, too. He feels
lucky that anyone is still paying attention. “I always thought of Oregon
as this laid-back place, but if you take time off you’ll get your ass
handed to you, creatively,” he says. “If you fade out on a heartbreak
for a year, you can go from up-and-coming to has-been in no time at
all.”
SEE IT: The James Low Western Front plays
LaurelThirst Public House, 2958 NE Glisan St., on Saturday, Feb. 25,
with the Sumner Brothers and WC Beck. 9 pm. $8. 21+.
