#18

By Digler, 30 November 2009

I imagine it’s the same in most small towns – if you are going somewhere you are driving. But I also think that fact is magnified in the place I grew up – a valley made up of a collection of tiny towns. Over 40 miles as the crow flies from north to south and 20 miles at its very widest with all of the kids from those small towns attending the same high school. If you’ve driven on I-15 from Utah into Idaho, you’ve seen that school, smack in the middle of that valley, in a cow pasture. What that geographical oddity means is that you learned to drive early, sometimes before you hit double digits in age, in your grandma’s boat of a car or an old farm truck. You drive miles to school, to practice, to athletic events and to see your best friends and girlfriend, who odds are each live in a different one of those small towns (mine did). Distances are measured in minutes, not miles and when you tell someone it’s a 15 minute drive to get somewhere it means you are covering more than 15 miles (not like the 15 minutes it takes to barely cover a mile in a place like Boston).
I literally put thousands of miles on cars driving around that valley. And music was an important part of each of those drives - sometimes to set the mood, sometimes to keep you company, sometimes just to keep you awake. Finding the perfect song and album to match your mood and the moment was always magical. I still can’t listen to Bob Seger’s Night Moves without getting nostalgic …and hoping to get lucky. And sometimes my wife and I listen to Neil Young’s Harvest Moon just to reminisce. There’s a particular stretch of I-15 between the towns where we grew up and I can literally see a harvest moon shining on that road and over that wide-open valley when we listen to that album. We fell in love with each other as we fell in love with that music. That feeling of finding the perfect music to fit the moment and the drive is one I rarely get anymore. But every once in awhile it does happen and when it does I can remember the moment perfectly.
In the summer of 2008 I had the opportunity to attend a conference in California. I flew to Idaho to visit family and then borrowed my mom’s car for the 12 hour drive to Anaheim. I drove to Mesquite, got up early and was on one of those stretches of road in Nevada that are completely forgettable except for the starkness of the terrain and the feeling of emptiness. I had already gone through the music I brought with me and turned on the radio. Radio West happened to be on, rebroadcasting a previous program on local Utah bands. What came through the speakers was a revelation. It was Band of Annuals singing songs from their album Let Me Live.

#18 Band of Annuals - Let Me Live (2007)

It was one of those moments where you want to find a friend and tell them they had to hear what you just heard. But I was alone in the car and it was too early to call anyone. And that turned out to be just fine. This was music that fit the moment - alone on an open road in the middle of nowhere, headed west, a little sad but also not scared about what may lie ahead. I’ve listened to this album over and over since that moment and enjoyed it every time. This band and this album are simply outstanding. I’d probably call it alt-country if I had to but it has a timeless quality to it that isn’t easily labeled. What got me first was the lead singer, Jay Hendersen’s voice and then the harmonies with Jeremi Hanson. I’d put these two up against Ryan Adams and Caitlin Cary. They are that good. But then add the pedal steel, the harmonica and great songwriting and I continue to be hooked. The album is solid from top to bottom but for starters listen to “Blood on My Shirt” and “Don’t Let Me Die”, which begins with the lyrics

Yeah, when I was young, they said I was naive.

It was all a misunderstanding.

How life could be so demanding,

But I learned it well.

Yes, the ground would fall right from beneath my feet.

I'd pray to God for a decent landing,

Hope that I could come up standing

This time.

Yeah, but don't let me die tonight.

If I was a drinking man, it would be the kind of album to have a drink to, sitting on a bar stool - a little sad, a little proud but completely honest. So pour yourself a drink, either literally or figuratively, and sit down, listen to this album and prepare to become a fan.
Postscript: It’s usually me calling Mike from a great concert in Boston because, well, we just tend to be a frequent stop for lots of great bands. But Band of Annuals are based in Salt Lake City and Mike is going to see them this Friday at The State Room. I have to admit, I’m jealous but I can’t wait to hear about the concert because I’m sure they won’t disappoint.

Check out their myspace page and stream music

http://www.myspace.com/bandofannuals

http://www.bandofannuals.com/

#19

We seem to love most where we came from - No matter the place, no matter the heat, no matter if it be flat, windy, dirty, old, new, over-populated, long wintered, treeless, and so forth. I grew up in a small town, actually seven miles from a small town; I grew up in an alfalfa field. During the warm summer nights I was privileged to the accompanying sound of sprinkler pipes outside my basement window. In fact, I could have just risen from a perfect nap, I’m feeling splendid, fully rested, revived, sleep being the furthest thing from my mind but if I was to lay down with the aid of sprinkler pipes watering a hay field I would be out like a light. Nothing sounds quite as relaxing to me as sprinkler pipe.

Growing up in my family being outside was just how it was. Gardening, yard work, raspberry patch, hay field, corn patch, fruit trees, bike well equipped to do all the maneuvers they did in my favorite movie as a young boy, “Rad”. A basketball court, BB gun with an affluence of birds, river within a mile or so, mountains in all directions – yes, there was plenty to do outside. Even during the cold winters I remember spending at least a few quality hours per day outside. I shot my best friend in the shoulder with my bb gun; actually, I shot both my best friends with my bb gun. With those same best friends we knocked out every window of an old abandoned gray house and then spent the next two months working on a dairy farm in order to pay off our regretful debt. I often moved sprinkler pipe in shorts - I wasn’t a real farmer, I never really knew the difference between a heifer and a regular ole’ cow. We rode calfs and imagined they were bucking wildly and we were cowboys - all they really did was run around in a circle and we'd eventually fall off. What the hell though, we felt tough. I can safely say I rode my bike hundreds of miles each year and never went any further than 3 miles from my home. I walked along the side of the road with a gun draped over my confidant shoulder and a sack lunch in my other hand and it didn’t look strange because it wasn’t strange. And it’s all of these things and so much more that I would sing about if I was a musician. I would find a way to implement sprinkler pipe into my American roots music, certainly bb gun would be a lyric – I love real music, real lyrics that are home grown. The next album on the list is full of this.

#19 Romantica - America (2007)

When I listen to America, which is often, I think of my childhood, I think of growing up in that alfalfa field, I'm not really certain why - this album is American roots sounding. There is no question the genre, Romantica is an alt-country band and a very favorable one at that. The album opens with "Queen of Hearts" a catchy more upbeat track with a sing-along chorus:

She’ll take you down to the river and throw you in, leave you when the sun goes down Tell you that you could’ve been a real fine fellow if your daddy would’ve had the time Leave you in the morning when the fog is forming on the Mississippi River bed

Well, you soon discover when you tell her that you love her that the girl you used to love is dead

She’ll take you down to the river and do it all over again

Most of this album is accompanied with pedal steel and I can't imagine the album without it. The lead singer and also songwriter of the group, Ben Kyle grew up in Belfast Ireland and moved to Minnesota when he was thirteen. Seeing Romantica live proved their excellence, I can assure you I have never had a more breathe taking musical experience as I did when I heard how perfect they sounded live. America has twelve tracks, it serves as a road map for a road trip, it's a beautiful album, soft at times, more upbeat at times but solid throughout. One of my favorite tracks off this album is "How To Live In A Modern World"

How to live in a modern world

Roll the dice, find a girl

Throw away the TV, and have some kids

Move into the big city

Next door to a colored family

Don’t do what your daddy did

I love this album, my two young boys love this album. Wil, my oldest, asks me, "Dad, play the snake song" which is a lyric in the third track, "The National Side" - I'm most excited about this band than any other at this time. Only two albums in, young guys, I have a feeling their going to be putting out magical music for years to come. The other hunch I have; I bet you Ben shot at least one of his friends with a bb gun growing up...maybe.

Check out Romantica and stream their music by clicking the links

http://www.myspace.com/romantica

http://www.romanticamusic.com/

#20

For me, there is no clear line between film and music. However, those films and musicians that speak to me best seem to be the most conflicted. I have often spoke with my Mother about this, asking, "Why is it that the really great works of art seem to stem from the greatest sorrow, the most conflicted of men and women, the deepest of pain?" Not that there isn't an exception to this idea but it does seem to hold true for the most part. Ernest Hemingway comes to mind, perhaps the greatest American author who ever penned the English language committed suicide in his early sixties. Kurt Cobain also comes to mind, one of the most gifted singer songwriters of my generation dead before the age of thirty, also suicide. The only answer I can come up with is this; Truth. Something profound and palpable lives within truth, the word that can set you free - write about what you know they say and how could it be any easier to accomplish such a thing than by simply telling the truth.

It is this very idea that leads me to love the singer songwriter. Just as the singer songwriter, more often than not, my favorite filmmakers are those who write and direct their own films. However, music trumps film in one significant way - little if any collaboration is needed for the musician to accomplish their goal, not at all the case with film. Great songwriting is so much a form of poetry, great dialog in a film holding the power to stick with us days after we hear it. One of my favorite films is A River Runs Through It, I care more deeply about the novel by Norman Maclean than I do the film, but I really do love this movie. So many moments shine for me in this film, the sorrow that exists in this story stands out for me but it is the written word that shines brightest, two scenes in particular. The first; when Norman is falling in Love with Jessie and she sits near a window reading a letter he wrote to her...

Dear Jessie,

As the moon lingers a moment over the Bitterroots, before its descent into the invisible, my mind is filled with song. I find I am humming, softly, not to the music, but to something else, some place else. A place remembered. A field of grass where no one seemed to have been, except the deer, and the memory is strengthened by the feeling of you, dancing in my awkward arms.

The other memorable moment is when Norman walks into his Father's office to find him reading aloud, they begin reciting a poem back and forth and eventually become unified in their words.

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting

The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,

Hath had elsewhere its setting,

And cometh from afar:

Not in entire forgetfulness,

And not in utter nakedness,

But trailing clouds of glory do we come

From God, who is our home.

Though nothing can bring back the hour

Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;

We will grieve not, rather find

Strength in what remains behind;

In the primal sympathy

Which having been must ever be;

In the soothing thoughts that spring

Out of human suffering;

In the faith that looks through death,

Thanks to the human heart by which we live,

Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,

To me the meanest flower that blows can give

Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears."

Words this beautiful seem to sing, surely they breathe and this is how I feel about the next album on this list. Matthew Ryan seems to be overrun with pain. The greatest challenge that I face is deciding which album of his to highlight, for there are three that could and should be on this list. He is perhaps one of the most underrated and unknown musicians this country has had in a very long while. I believe him to be one of the most exceptional songwriters not only of my generation but of any generation. His voice is quite unconventional and perhaps plays a vital role in his ability to stay under the radar. After learning to play the guitar in his late teens, he struggled learning to play popular songs and so he began writing his own. Lucky for us he began writing his own.

Matthew Ryan - May Day (1997)

I adore this album, I adore all twelve tracks, I adore the heartache and pain that lives within, I adore it completely. With the opening track, "Guilty" Matthew Ryan wastes no time in blaming himself for that heartache and pain. Lyrically, this album and Ryan in general stands behind no one - his songwriting all his own and it is masterful. With each and every track Ryan allows his listeners to go deeper inside the torment and discomfort that comes in failed relationships. The third track "Irrelevant" opens with a remarkable ten sentence verse,

There's only one light on in the house

And that's the light up in the hall

And it's shining on the back of my head

And I'm concentrating hard on the cigarette

To the ashtray from the ashtray back to my lips

So I lean up from my easy chair

I rub my three-day beard

And give that thousand yard stare

As I recall all the time and money we spent

Before I became irrelevant

That lyric paints as much of a picture as any brush or pencil, I can see a man sitting in an old brown recliner, hardwood floor beneath his feet, mosquitos of dust dancing in the harsh light, cigarette smoke lingering like a thick cloud, you can smell the room if you'll just try. It's lyrics such as these that make me wish I knew Matthew Ryan. I can imagine sitting across from him in an old classic diner, one that would still allow him to smoke, coffee in his cup, sleep in his eyes, I would love to hear his stories, his points of view but then I realize I do know him. I know him because of these songs, I know him because of the truth - oh how I appreciate that honesty. If you're discovering Matthew for the first time make sure you begin where he began, with this album, May Day. Matthew has a library of fine music, nearly a dozen albums in which only seven are studio releases. Each track on this album is significant, each track is poetry in its purest and most wonderful form. I really do believe this album is as timeless and perfect as any album ever made.

I'm not sure why I'm drawn to the thought invoking stimulus that comes with pain filled stories. Perhaps, "It's a perpetual stone in my shoe, one that I will always be trying to shake loose" - I wish I could take credit for that line, but that belongs to Matthew Ryan. I find an abundance of hope within the conflicted artists I speak of, they take us to places we've seldom been, they help us feel things we've seldom felt, they are the most gifted of all story tellers - they tell the truth.

Check out Matthew Ryan

http://www.matthewryanonline.com/

http://www.myspace.com/matthewryan

#21

This weeks contribution is from one of my dearest friends, I consider him family in every form - Also, it's important to mention that in no way are these twenty-five albums in any type of ranking. Number one is no greater than twenty-five, it's just a list, not a countdown to number one.

By Digler, 9 November 2009

It was the music. If it’s something that matters, doesn’t it always come down to the music? Both from small towns in Idaho and great families (and if you think Mike is from a small town, I grew up in the ‘suburbs’ of a town with a population of 770), both married to our high school sweethearts but too stubborn and too cool in that ridiculous we –were-high-school-basketball-rivals-and-he-was-a punk-kind of way to try and get to know each other even as we lived just a few blocks apart. Our wives had similar backgrounds but in that way that women seem to be able to do but men struggle with they were already way past the pettiness and had become, and remain, great friends. Finally, our wives had managed to get us all together and as Mike turned a critical eye towards my CD collection we realized we basically owned mirror collections, had similar backgrounds and came from families that had from an early age shaped our love for music. My father is a huge classic rock kind of guy – and now has a vintage Harley as if to put an exclamation on that fact. The kind of guy who when a song came on the radio would say, son that’s “Melissa” from The Allman Brothers Band, Eat a Peach album, released in 1972. So I grew up listening to albums, and that’s still what I look for, listen to and buy – and like Mike I think we have as many great albums being put out now as ever before – but you have to look for them and you have to want to find them. I’ve gone through various stages of music in my life and still appreciate a wide variety but if you drew a big old Venn diagram (sorry, I’m a PhD student) you’d see a little more classic rock and alternative on my side and a little more classic country on Mike’s side but there would be a huge overlap in the middle with the kinds of music this blog is all about. I’m glad Mike has finally put down into written word some of the conversations we’ve had over the years and I’m happy to be a part of it.

It’s almost been a decade since we bonded over music. Mike’s moved from Idaho to Brooklyn and back again. I’ve moved from Idaho to Boston… and that’s where I remain today – six years and counting. My wife and I have two girls and they’ve been born here and are being raised here. As I stated, I’m a PhD student, studying at a business school, in the education capital of the world. It has been an amazing experience as we’ve experienced life in a city as dynamic as Boston and learned to live so far away from family and friends. I’m teaching, working on a dissertation, and getting to know some extraordinary and brilliant people from all over the world. Some days, I feel like I belong, that I’m becoming an equal, that Boston is becoming home. But there are other times – when I see my daughters have to go to a public park for a chance to get their pants dirty and run wild, when someone wonders what you could do for fun in a tiny town in Idaho, or asks aloud how in the world I managed to end up getting a PhD in Boston – that I wonder what I’m doing here. It’s a tension between where I’ve come from, what I’m doing now and where I hope to be. There is some sadness there but also some hope. I’m an optimist and I usually have a smile on my face. In those moments, there is one artist, and one album in particular that resonates – Josh Ritter’s The Animal Years.

#21 Josh Ritter - The Animal Years

I could make an argument for every one of his albums to be on this list and it’s easy to follow his own trajectory from his self-titled album to The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter as he’s found his style and grown into his song-writing. But I think The Animal Years is Josh at a cross-road, one that many of us can relate to as we try to find out what we want to be and where we want to be it. Besides, he’s gone from Idaho to Boston and back again. Maybe one day I’ll do the same. He is a lyrical storyteller – probably the best we have today – and there is a sense that he has his voice on the edge. It’s right up to the boundaries of where he can take it and if you listen closely, like in “Lillian, Egypt” and “Good Man” you can tell he has a smile on his face. I’ve seen him in concert a couple of times and can verify this – his smile, energy and enthusiasm is contagious. There isn’t a week goes by that I don’t tell my wife, as Josh sings on “Good Man” “Babe we both had dry spells, hard times in bad lands, I’m a good man for ya, I’m a good man” He’s more serious on “Girl in the War” and “Thin Blue Flame” but even at his darkest you get a sense of optimism and lyrics that you’ll want to repeat to your dearest friends.

On “Idaho” he sings “My clothes are packed and I want to go Idaho oh Idaho” and when I hear that I’ve got my own bags packed, and I can see a cold, winter night in Idaho and an open road ahead of me. The album ends with the song “Here at the Right Time” with Josh singing “Tell me I got here at the right time. If I did it’s probably the first time. No second guesses or secret signs. Tell me I got here at the right time.” He’s hopeful and so am I.

#22

I lived in Brooklyn, New York in the earlier part of the decade. Our apartment (My Wife and I) was on 33rd street, just off of 5th avenue - from our front steps looking north we had a wonderful view of a huge catholic cemetery. Massive trees throughout, a black iron gate bordering the acreage that most certainly typified the beauty of most any park. In fact, during our apartment hunt, as we were driving up 33rd street, our realtor behind the wheel, one of us said, "Sweet, we'll be next to a park", our realtor was quick to respond, "Yeah, a park for dead people". All the same, it really was beautiful.

I was attending school in Manhattan and Haley worked in Brooklyn. Walking and riding the subway were our only forms of transportation and looking back now, I wouldn't have it any other way. Riding the subway on a daily basis is its own form of entertainment, people-watching is a pass time in New York and a satisfactory one at that. The typical duration of my ride was around 30 minutes, I read a lot, I remember reading To Kill a Mockingbird. On one occasion I missed my stop, I was in the middle of highlighting a sentence, "It was times like these when I thought my father, who hated guns and had never been to any wars, was the bravest man who ever lived" I'm not sure if that was the actual sentence I was highlighting, It's just the one that I remember, I'd like to believe it was.

I have a multitude of fine memories from our time spent in the world's greatest city. One of my clearest is the Virgin Records store near Union Station, which was only a few blocks from the school I attended. I would hoof it down to that store whenever time permitted and I would sample new artist after new artist. My favorite finding was an artist by the name of Jesse Malin, Brooklyn based, his debut recently hitting the shelves. I have a suitcase full of splendid subway stories, not just subway stories, New York stories, New York memories and Jesse Malin's The Fine Art Of Self Destruction is a perfect prescription for having those memories rise to the top.

#22 Jesse Malin - The Fine Art Of Self Destruction (2003)

"Queen of The Underworld" is the opening track on this alternative, slash, punk-rock album. The Fine Art Of Self Destruction never does become purely punk or even alternative for that matter, something deep within each track keeps this album hovering above and around other genres. I believe shades of Bruce Springsteen can be heard throughout. Jesse shines lyrically; he has a bit of a whiney, higher pitched voice and you will either love this or find it to be somewhat nettlesome. "Queen of The Underworld" starts the album out on the right track,

I Never got an invitation

Never hurt too much

I'm gonna' make a reservation

But I'm not in a rush

There is not a single skip on this eleven track album. In my mind the album serves as a kind of journal for Jesse, each song reflecting Brooklyn and New York in the most perfect way, his emotions out there, left to be loved or criticized. The tenth track, "Almost Grown" is one of my favorite songs lyrically...

My parents split up in the first grade

My father never did come back

My sister liked John Travolta

But I wanted Billy Jack

Throwing things off of the rooftops

40 buildings all the same

My mother took a job as a waitress

Swimming in the divorce age

When you're all alone

And you're all alone

When you're all alone and you're almost grown

Me and Holly snuck into night clubs

The politics of punk rock church

We were so idealistic

But somehow only saw the worst

When you're young and violent sick and silent

Hoping just to be admired

Water seeks its level of pain

And you're all alone

And you're all alone

And you're all alone

And you're almost grown

Some old friends retired too

But they still laugh about me and you

My mother's ashes went into the ocean

Scattered on a windy day

She used to like Frank Sinatra

Cigarettes and JFK

Some retired some expired some were meant

To be admired for a moment at a young age

But I don't care what they say others went and got away

I just want to see her again

When you're all alone

When you're all alone

When you're all alone

You're almost grown

When you're all alone and your heart is stone

I wish I was on the subway now, either reading a good book, people-watching, or holding the hand of the woman I love most, the later is actually at the top of that list. New York is like no other place in this world, Brooklyn is fine and wonderful, and though pictures are nice, nothing quite takes me back to the subway as effectively as Jesse Malin's The Fine Art Of Self Destruction.

#23

Growing up I shared the same bed as my older brother, Jacob, five years older. Not just the same room, the same bed – you’re thinking it had to be a king, nope, it was queen size. Our bedroom was in the basement, right next to the laundry room, the sound of a dryer running is restful to me, peaceful, almost tranquil. Like clockwork, my Mother would throw in a batch or two of laundry most every night. I loved the conversations the three of us would have as she separated whites from darks, us two boys lying in bed as she cheerfully moved about the laundry room. It’s remarkable to me that the sound of a dryer can take me back to that queen bed, brown-carpeted floor, sports posters shielding the walls and my older Brother lying next to me. The power that exists in sound truly is astonishing.

Just as Jake and I shared that same bed, we also share the same love for music, the next album on my list the two of us discovered together while living in a hotel room in Sunnyside Washington. In no direct attempt at offending anyone, I can safely say the only redeeming quality about Sunnyside Washington is getting to leave. Our few week stay in Sunnyside was combined with one hundred degree days – outside of our hotel room was disorderly, especially at night, the food was bad and the people seemed churlish. However, anytime I listen to On Promenade I reluctantly drift back to that hotel room. I can’t help it, like I said, the power that exists in sound truly is astonishing. Lucky for me (and Jake) we had this album to accompany our nine hour drive home. And so, when I listen to On Promenade It's not just Sunnyside that I visit, I can see the Blue Mountains in Oregon, I can see a particular ma-n-pa's c-store in historic Baker City, I can see a whole lot of freeway and remember a cluster of conversation.

#23 Doug Burr - On Promenade (2007)

The foremost thing about Doug Burr's On Promenade is how solid it stands as a complete album, I'm not sure there is one song that rises up more than another. The other aspect of this album is how much better it continues to get with multiple listens. Doug sings in masterful verses - forcing his listeners to pay attention. On Promenade has a gospel roots feel to it, hard to place the sound in any particular genre - it never becomes altered, it remains as one continual sound; the eleven tracks on this album belong together. The guitar work is fine but it's the other instruments that give On Promenade it's distinguished sound and feel. Electric guitar, banjo, piano, drums, the way it's mixed together, the background vocals always joining at the precise moment. On Promenade is an impressive album, around forty-five minutes in length, full of heart and skillful songwriting.

I've traveled to a few places I don't care to remember, Sunnyside being at the top of the list - I gladly accept my time there because of our eminent discovery. With Doug Burr's On Promenade I'll take the bad with the good, because this album is nothing short of great.

Check out Doug Burr's official site:

http://www.dougburr.com/home.htm

Stream songs from On Promenade at his myspace page:

http://www.myspace.com/dougburr

#24

One Saturday, when I was sixteen years of age, my dad and I had spent a good half day working around the yard. What I believed then, as a young man was the most rewarding part of the day, was our trip to town for soda and gee-dunks (a word I’m quite certain my Dad made up – it means candy) And if ever my Dad had a noble tradition, this five mile road trip to the nearest convenient store was it. So, the two of us climbed into his blue, Ford pickup. I can still see the gray interior.

Only a minute or two into the trip my Father turned on the cassette player, prepared to hear the great Merle Haggard. However, he was quite dumbfounded as gangster rap began pulsating from the speakers instead. My dad moved with great purpose, pushing eject, shaking his head, snatching the tape, rolling down the window, flinging it with great delight through his open window, without missing a beat.

I was quick to point out that I had purchased that cassette the night before with his money. My frank explanation was followed by his words, “Two rules as long as you live in my house, drive my car, eat my food, and spend my money. Rule number one: rap music will not be left in any of my vehicles, if it is I will toss it out. Rule number two: you will not buy rap music with the money I give you, only the money you earn.” After a slight pause, “And where in the hell did you put my Merle Haggard tape? Son, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll never, not ever, never ever touch Merle again”.

It wasn’t that I didn’t like Merle Haggard, because I did, I loved him. “I turned twenty-one in prison doin’ life without parole, no one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried, Mama tried to raise me better but her pleading I denied, that leaves only me to blame cause Mama tried”. I’m no fool, that’s gangster rap from 1968. It’s just that I was sixteen and I thought rap music was…I thought it was…I thought…It’s because I was sixteen.

It wasn’t just Merle Haggard tapes that filled the glove box and middle console of my Dad’s pickup trucks. I remember plenty of long drives, deer hunting trips, adventures of all sorts, myself compressed in the middle, my older brother riding passenger, my Father driving, and the three of us singing along to Roger Miller, Buck Owens, Don Williams, Johnny Cash, Don Gibson, or George Jones to name a few. Great country music, the stuff of old, instilled in me a desire to continue looking for it. I’m speaking of the bluesy, bluegrass, folk, with a little honky-tonk, good ole’ fashioned story-telling kind of country music. This leads us to our next album on the list.

#24 Justin Jones and The Driving Rain - Love Verses Heroin (2006)

Love Verses Heroin is an impressive album from Justin Jones, his debut release is titled, Blue Dreams, it’s a solo effort, mostly acoustic and quite solid. Love Verses Heroin is the first album with The Driving Rain behind him, he follows Love Verses Heroin with And I Am The Song Of The Drunkards, which shows progress but as for a complete album, first track to last track, Love Verses Heroin is it.

LVH is a formidable ten songs. The opening track “Hope” is acoustic for the first minute and twenty-five seconds and when the full band joins in you’ll quickly realize the tone for this album is set. The following track “Honey I Need You” accompanied by an upbeat banjo and harmonica, with impressive guitar work from The Driving Rain will certainly have you tapping your toes as you listen. The third track softens a bit, accompanied by piano, “Need You Around” is beautifully written, reminding me of similar pain you’ll find in Johnny Cash written songs. Lyrically, Justin has plenty to say and is proof that songwriting should be about life experience, about honesty, pain, joy, and everything that comes with love…verses heroin. This album has been dependable on my play list going on three years now and I’m pretty sure if my old man was to climb in the cab of his truck and find this playing, well, he wouldn’t turn it off, that much I know.

You can stream "Hope" & "Honey I Need You" below:

http://www.myspace.com/justinjones

Learn more about Justin Jones

http://www.justin-jones.com/

And his new song "California" watch him sing it live - absolutely worth the visit

http://vimeo.com/4148670