Ray Lamontagne
Trouble
RCA/Echo
by Michael Hansen
 Steve
Earle. There. I've done it again. Seems that almost everything
I write about anything at all has a reference to Earle in it.
This is an involuntary thing, perhaps even a rare obsessive/compulsive
disorder. It's not something that I set out to do but inevitably
he appears. The hardcore troubadour, the other kind, the unrepentant,
any one of his many incarnations.
Now at first glance, there would not appear to be any relevant
connection whatsoever between Earle and RCA/Echo Records debutant
Ray Lamontagne, and mentioning Earle here could well be dismissed
as superfluous posturing, or even as gratuitous name-dropping.
Nothing more than a miserable, pathetic excuse to make it known
publicly that I just happen to have a photograph of myself in
the company of not just a glowering Earle (he was tired), but
also a radiant Kasey Chambers.
To take this attitude would in fact be highly unjust deserving
of at least a "slap upside the head." Here's why. Recently
I was in the west of Ireland, and in Galway Town on a "fine
soft (but showery) day-I-ay." I took refuge in a music store
just across the cobbled street from some very cool bronze statues
of Oscar Wilde and his brother. These two life-size figures are
sitting on a marble bench and very handsome they are too. After
having my picture taken sitting on Ozzie's knee (the faeries
made me do it), it was inside the store to dryness and a vast
array musical stuff. CDs of course, and instruments both modern
and traditional. Fiddles, guitars, mandolins, tin whistles and
bodhrans large and small.
A lilting, somewhat melancholy song was playing softly, which
in itself is remarkable given the fondness of many such places
for playing the pick of the day at hideous, pain threshold levels.
A breathy, slightly rasping voice sang the plaintive, refrain,
and despite a curious intonation maybe even an affectation when
he sang "arms", the effect was immediately engaging.
I could hold you in my arms,
I could hold you forever,
And I could hold you in my arms,
Oh, oh, I could hold you forever.
Intrigued, and more than a little captivated by the sweetly
swaying string interlude that followed I needed to find out who
this was. Improbable as it may seem, standing behind the counter,
there she was, an authentic, 2005 version of Earle's "Galwy
Girl." Let's call her Niamh, and needless to say she had
"hair of black and eyes of blue." In response to my
question, I received a sweet smile, and a melodious tumble of
words that amounted to something like, "it's Ray Lamontagne,
he's American, not French, and I've been playing it all morning.
It's very good don't you think?"
"And I ask you friends, tell me what would you do?"
I had to agree, my critical assessment 100% unaffected by that
raven hair and those sparkling eyes. Alas there was no invitation
to "her flat downtown" and the prospect of a "Salthill
prom with the Galway girl," didn't seem good on account
of the rain. So it was thank you and goodbye to Niamh, and off
in search of wife, daughter, and further bronzes of Irish literary
figures. I had Ray Lamontagne's Trouble CD in my bag and
about 15 Euros (enough for say 4 pints of Guinness) less in my
wallet.
Later that day we dined in a place which served an admirable
Irish stew, but somehow eating and supping under the steely gaze
of a larger than life sized picture of James Joyce overlooking
us was somewhat unnerving.
The song that had captured my attention on that Irish morning
was "Hold You In My Arms" which in many ways typifies
the heartbeat of Trouble. Three tracks in, it's propelled
by acoustic strumming, shushing shakers, understated percussion,
and a finger picked melody, which conveys a pastoral quietness
and subtlety that is a rarity in these loud, hectoring times.
Seems that lately the message is invariably delivered as a shouted
directive instead of a soft but firm admonition. Lamontagne's
most potent attribute is his singular voice, an instrument that
is central to this collection of songs, with subtle and understated
accompaniment providing a compelling backdrop to this remarkable
debut recording.
The Ray Lamontagne "package" has been hailed elsewhere
as that of a fully formed soul in the company of such luminaries
as Van Morrison, Neil Young, and Jesse Winchester, and as a vocalist
who is a hybrid of Morrison, Otis Redding, and Bob Dylan! Excuse
me, who is off with the faeries now?
If these comparisons are intended to be qualitative, as they
do appear to be, then they are patently foolish nonsense, tripe,
trumpery and trash, codswallop even. This sort of gee-gaw, gimcrack
hysteria serves only to diminish the stature of the work of artists
whose catalogue has been painstakingly grafted onto the historical
record of the musical tradition over a lengthy period. Not just
that, it also assigns an unrealistic value to the creations of
a singer/songwriter who has just made his first record, however
intrinsically good that recording may be.
To take some words from the worthy and wise Jesse Winchester,
"all this funky folderol is just too hot to handle."
I am confident that babe in the woods Lamontagne would agree.
Back off, let the man catch his breath y'all, at the moment he's
just a new kid in a very prestigious neighborhood.
Stylistically, Lamontagne's work exhibits the hushed immediacy
of sometimes brooding, sometimes lilting and occasionally rollicking
backwoods melodies, producing a gently resonant look at life
and love that is at once sensitive and accessible. This is not
to say that Trouble is one of those introspective, self
obsessed, misery-guts excursions into the world of look at me,
I'm so sad, I'm even sadder than Virginia Wolf and if I had the
energy I'd probably drown myself if only I could find a river.
On the contrary, Trouble is an engaging and at times inspiring
excursion into the world of country soul balladry.
Lamontagne is a New Englander, who having spent most of his
life moving around with his family spent his formative years
in Maine. It is said that he struggled through high school and
during a stint working in a shoe factory, an early morning musical
epiphany involving a Stephen Stills song on the radio convinced
him that the life of a singer and songwriter was right up his
alley, or at least in his neighborhood.
With some neat cross-generational symmetry Lamontagne's chief
collaborator on Trouble is wunderkind Ethan Johns. Johns
will be best known to the over 40s as the son of producer and
engineer Glynn Johns who worked with The Steve Miller Band, The
Rolling Stones, and the aforementioned Stills with cohorts Crosby,
Nash and Young, among many others. To his own generation the
younger Johns is renowned for his instrumental work and production
duties with the likes of Ryan Adams, the Kings of Leon and The
Jayhawks. To make this even neater (or perhaps confuse the issue),
Stills' daughter Jennifer appears on Trouble as a backing
vocalist.
In addition to constructing the down home production values
on Trouble, Johns added drum, electric guitar, bass and
piano parts to Lamontagne's live acoustic guitar/harmonica/vocal
tracks. As well, the gifted producer/instrumentalist, wrote,
arranged and recorded the string charts, and did the final mix.
Add a string quintet on five of the ten tracks, and Nickel Creek's
Sara Watkins fiddle and vocal trappings on another two and the
roll call is complete.
Even after considering of Johns' contribution, Trouble
is clearly Ray Lamontagne's product, and it is his distinctive,
reedy voice that is the record's stand out factor. Similarities
in terms of the timbre, resonance and mood of his vocals can
be found in the recordings of Nels Andrews, Conor Oberst (Bright
Eyes), Calexico, Sam Beam (Iron and Wine) and perhaps even the
tragic Elliott Smith.
Proceedings on Trouble get underway with Johns' distinctive
shuffling percussion pushing Lamontagne's vocal on the yearning
title track. Over pretty acoustic strumming he bemoans his weary,
worried existence.
Trouble.trouble, trouble, trouble, trouble
Trouble been doggin' my soul since the day I was born
Anxious as it may appear, this lament doesn't convey helplessness
and seeks neither sympathy nor intervention. Instead, as the
tempo rises the burden eases, and the troubled mind testifies
in a gospel soaked declaration.
We'll I've been saved... by a woman
I've been saved by a woman .
She won't let me go, She won't let me go now
On the gently swaying "Shelter" it is the lazy,
muted Levon Helm style drums that immediately stand out. Helm,
the Arkansas raised driving force behind the moonshine and medicine
show inspired work of The Band more than thirty years ago developed
and patented a characteristic slapping, thudding tom-tom percussion
style that was new to rock drumming at the time, and which set
the standard for many ever since. Like "Hannah", later
on the record, "Shelter" exhibits the serene slowly
swinging tempo of Band songs like "Tears of Rage" and
"Rockin' Chair". Lamontagne's vocals at times recall
the haunting, lonely, painfully beautiful higher register singing
of the greatly missed Richard Manuel, and at others capture something
of the exuberant Rick Danko's rough hewn, good natured fervor.
I left you heartbroken,
But not until those very words were spoken
Has anybody ever made such a fool out of you
It's hard to believe it
Even as my eyes do see it
The very things that make you live are killing you
Listen when all of this around us 'll fall over
I tell you what we're gonna do
You will shelter me my love
I will shelter you
"Shelter" is a celebration of the power of reciprocal
loyalty and this theme carries through to "Narrow Escape"
where Lamontagne ventures into the murky lands of long black
veils, star-crossed lovers on the run, Frankie and Albert, Caril
Ann Fugate and Charles Starkweather, even Pancho and Lefty.
This is territory that is central to the American musical
pedigree and is beautifully explored and examined in the book
"The Rose & the Briar: Death, Love and Liberty in the
American Ballad," a collection of essays by a range of writers,
performers and artists as varied as Dave Marsh, Rennie Sparks
(Handsome Family) Robert Crumb, and Joyce Carol Oates. The English
folk ballad tradition having been shaped and informed by the
experience of New World settlement and its attendant privations
has produced a rich, stark and brutal canon. Ray Lamontagne continues
this narrative ballad form, with its bleak tales of love, lust,
poverty, extreme violence and tragedy in his haunting tale of
Lejos and Mary in "Narrow Escape."
They are fugitives after "it seems he "cut a man
down in a Tennessee town." Mary is torn between her needs
and his liberty, and she exhorts Lejos to flee without her.
As Lejos lay sleeping
She knelt over him weeping
Feeling the weight of his crimes
But it won't take long for the boys to catch on
And soon he'll be running like hell
Run Lejos run, this ain't no time for that ball and chain
Run Lejos run, climb on that pony and ride like you never done
Ride like you never done
The double bind for Lejos is that the "ball and chain"
is metaphor in the case of remaining with Mary, and a stark reality
if his flight fails. There are few if any happy endings in this
genre and in this desperately evocative song Lamontagne remains
true to the form. The song conjures images of young Martin Sheen
and an even younger Sissy Spacek in Terrence Malik's compelling
1970s film "Badlands", even though neither the story
nor the fate of the lovers is the same. Listen to the song and
wonder if anyone really escapes.
The gently strummed reverie of the hauntingly somber "Burn,"
brings to us a singer with his "soul sat down so tight it's
like a stone cold tomb," proclaiming his grief in a whispery,
almost falsetto vocal, and leads into a bracket of songs that
capture the essence of Trouble, and demonstrate what is so appealing
about the record.
"Forever My Friend" and "Hannah" are poles
apart in mood, construction and tempo, and in the timbre and
resonance of the vocals, but are kindred spirits in their narrative
homage to the power of trust, togetherness, and devotion.
Driven by clip-clop rim shots, chiming, ringing guitars, those
shakers again and a quick-step feel, "Forever My Friend"
joyously dances, prances and careens along for five minutes plus
in an ardent celebration of the ménage. Initially unsure
and questioning, the singer asks:
Who am I to tell her, who am I to play god
Who am I to think I can go it alone
Something tells me girl this is bringing you down
Something tells me this is bringing me down
Despite the unease and uncertainty, the power of devotion
and attachment prompts hope, and the response is buoyed by the
swooping, swaying strings that power the extended instrumental
fade on a song that oozes quality and vitality.
Forever my friend, forever my love
Forever the woman that I'm thinking of
I just think if we keep our hearts together
I just think if we will build on this trust that we have for
one another
Maybe we can make this last a lifetime
"Hannah" is another lengthy workout, and is the
track on Trouble that most vividly recalls the legacy
of The Band. It has that loose but stately progression of drums,
piano and guitars that we hear in "The Night They Drove
Old Dixie Down," "The Weight," and in particular
"Rockin' Chair."
In the case of "Hannah" the mandolin/accordion embellishments
we hear on "Rockin' Chair" are echoed by Sarah Watkins'
lovely fiddle fills which at first simply punctuate the stanzas,
but progressively become central to the track. The narrative
sees a familiar pattern of vulnerability and weary questioning
and doubt about where the singer's tentative steps in search
of Hannah's heart and mind will lead,
I lost all of my vanity, when I peered into the pool
I lost all of my innocence, When I fell in love with you
I never knew a man fall so far until I landed here
Where all of my wounds turn into gold when I kissed your hair
Mindful that the fragile vulnerability of Hannah herself presents
both a dilemma and a challenge as he walks the fine line between
joyful fulfillment and emotional harm, Lamontagne moves carefully,
his reservations accentuated by Watkins' beautifully close harmony
singing.
Ask her why she cries so loud, she will not say a word
Eyes like ice and hands that shake, she takes what she deserves
To celebrate her emptiness, in a cold and lonely room
Sweep the floor with your long flowered dress
If you cannot find a broom
Having set the scene, the rousing, pleading chorus, again
fortified by Watkins' fragile but telling voice is hesitant in
its cautious invitation to Hannah to extend a hand of trust.
The contract sought requires her consideration in return for
his offer of moderation.
Come to me Hannah
Hannah won't you come on to me
I'll lay down this bottle of wine if you just be kind to me
I'd walk one mile on this broken glass to fall down at your feet
Oh Hannah you're the queen of the street
The string band feel and the lovely harmonies produce an unequivocally
sad song, but one that is never cloying or prosaic. The possibility
of redemption always bubbles along beneath the troublesome times.
Do the lovers find peace, or is there the almost inevitable fall
from grace? Well, a bit of both. The conclusion to this gorgeously
moving piece is replete with the poignancy and ambiguity that
typifies this lovely but sometimes maddeningly dark music.
Anyone looking for any break out, go crazy guitar workouts
won't find them on Trouble, but the closest we get is
the stinging electric riffing from Ethan Johns on "How Come,"
which pushes Lamontagne's acoustic strumming as he temporarily
leaves the rural past to dip into a little contemporary social
comment. The simple but telling question is applied both specifically
and generally to a plethora of social ills.
I said how come, I can't tell, the free world, from living
hell
I said how come, how come, all I see, is a child of god in misery
?
Ray Lamontagne's almost polite enquiry of "how come?"
provides an interesting counterpoint to the utterances of bolder
and higher profile proclaimers of the music community. The then
plain old Bob Geldof famously asked a similar, "is that
it?" in the title of his 1986 autobiography. Here, Ray Lamontagne
almost whispers his "how come" poser with some bewilderment.
The latter day Sir Bob, would now most likely lean into a TV
camera and shout something like "the poor bastard's got
no crapping food, so get off your fat lazy arses and do something
you pathetic whores, for fook's sake!" Each man to his own
but all praise to them both for their conviction and preparedness
to speak without fear of being slapped down.
Trouble comes to a serene conclusion with a pair of hauntingly
evocative songs in "Jolene" (no, not Dolly's Jolene),
and "All The Wild Horses," the latter song a plea for
innocence, a hymn to spiritual release.
All the wild horses
Tethered with tears in their eyes
May no man's touch ever tame
May no man's reigns ever chain you
And may no man's weight ever defrayed your soul
And as for the clouds
Just let them roll
Roll away
Trouble is a bewitchingly seductive and immediately
appealing debut recording. In August 1968 a New York Times reviewer
wrote the following about a strangely rustic debut recording
that in it's simplicity stood in stark contrast to the glam and
excesses of the day.
"But there is far more to their ethic of simplicity than
reverse snobbism. On its own stylistic terms, they are an honest,
versatile and immensely vital new group. So many rock musicians
think they must assault an audience to make their presence felt.
This band tries for less, but accomplishes more; it makes me
long to hear real music - Just music - once again."
This group was The Band and the recording Music From Big
Pink, which along with its successor has become a fixture
in the canon of American(a) music. Very similar words would be
appropriate if written about Ray Lamontagne's debut recording.
Only the passage of time will reveal whether this record is as
important as it appears to be.
Meanwhile, back in Galway, having little success in any of
my cultural quests, and with more showers threatening, I had
no option but to step into The Laurels, order a pint and fail
for the umpteenth time figure out what Molly Bloom's rattling
on about at the end of "Ulysses." My fellow Laurelites
had no idea either, but were hugely helpful when enquiries were
made about the time should to take to drive to Killarney the
next morning. Carefully considered estimates starting at "a
good hour," increasing to "two and a quarter on account
dem fookin' road works," and finally arriving at "better
allow tree come to tink of it seein' how da man's from Canada,"
were offered up with typical generosity.
Canada ??? Just another of the many perils of wearing Ontario's
Fred Eaglesmith merchandise in public places. Just ask my veterinarian
friend what happens when she wears her "I Shot Your Dog"
T Shirt to work!
www.raylamontagne.com/
www.rcarecords.com/
www.echo.co.uk/
Contact Michael Hansen at hansen-at-rockzilla.net
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