Last of the Country Gentlemen [VINYL]

"The last of the Country Gentlemen" is a damaged and raw record of rare brilliance built up after ten years of self imposed exile, sadness and cocaine wilderness. Josh T Pearson's return is long overdue, particularly for those still smitten by the mighty glory of Lift to Experience's astounding sonic double album of 2001's Texas Jerusalem Crossroads with its central theme of the Lone Star State emerging from the apocalypse as a geographical "Noah's arks" with its epicentre in the town of Denton. It is an album of such intensity that it did suggest a sort of Van Gogh like insanity with the bands heart and soul literally poured into every note. It is hardly surprising therefore that LTE imploded and never been seen since. As Pearson admits with some understatement "We dropped the ball on it. We needed time... I just went out there and prepared for the end of the world. That's just the way it happened."

Seek out pictures today of Pearson and it appears that he could have stepped out of the pages of history. He could stand on the Battlefield at Gettysburg and look like a member of Pickett's Brigade and there is something about "Last of the country gentlemen" which has a timeless and spellbinding quality. It must rank with Neil Young's "Tonight the night" as an epic of desolate bleak beauty. In effect Pearson's album is aural equivalent to the written works of that western genius Cormac McCarthy and the albums weary central tenet is one of failure, burn out and approaching hell in a hand basket. This despair is summarized in the opening line to the glorious ten-minute plus "Country Dumb" that "I come from a long line in history of dreamers/each one more tired than the one before ". (Check out the alternative piano version on the Internet music blogs). On "Woman I've raised hell" you suspect that Pearson has recorded a song destined to be one of the greatest country laments as pleads "honestly why cant you just let it be/ and let me quietly drink myself to sleep/honestly it not what it appears to be"

As it stands this is not so much an album of songs as seven miniature sagas in which Pearson lays bare the tumult of his last ten years and responds with earthy acoustics that meander and ramble but also touch and beguile. There is no attempt here at any Ryan Adams or Dylan LeBlanc alt country accessibility, there is little cheer to be had in an album which travels a journey from heartbreak to rage and back again. The 13 minute plus "Honeymoon is great, I wish you were her" starts with the line "I'm in love with another women/please don't tell my wife" and travels over a tale of infidelity punctuated by a sparse acoustics and a lonesome violin. "Sweetheart I ain't your Christ" in particular is the acoustic equivalent of the sonic boom that is the Texas Jerusalem crossroads "With Crippled wings" sometimes appearing almost to fade out only to reappear with an agonizingly slow commentary from JP. As a singer he has also regularly been compared to Jeff Buckley and the beautiful hymn like opener "Thou art loosed" evokes his memory .

Pearson's return in 2011 is as welcome as Gil Scott Heron's rejuvenation in 2010. Both men have never compromised on their musical vision and by doing so had to pay a price. You are warned that if you are looking for a second set of explosives to match the Texas Jerusalem Crossroads it is not to be found here. There is no attempt on the Last of the Country Gentlemen to sweeten the pill or produce music with any hint of commerciality, compare this with the Low Anthem recent Smart Flesh and the latter could be a Glee album in terms of mood. Many will absolutely hate it, while others will dumbstruck. It is an album that is a forceful and potent reminder that the world needs its damaged losers and outsiders. Josh T Pearson has tapped into a vein of dark melancholy that leads him to produce a completely outstanding set of confessional tales which is classic country music red in tooth and claw and dripping with despair.

Josh T Pearson seems to be exorcising demons in this outstanding piece of music, laying ghosts to rest. The loss of faith. Broken relationships. The yearning for something that might never even have existed. It is the most emotionally arresting and heartbreaking sequence of songs I think I have ever heard. Every one, sublime.

He picks and strums his guitar, teasing out of it the perfect complement to his worldweary yet ever hopeful voice, and in some tracks the presence of a swooning violin adds to the overall delicacy and beauty. The lyrics are wonderful, a Southern gothic of loss and striving that creates images so stark and visual it is like watching a film. Appearing ten years after the magnificent Lift to Experience cd, the Last of the Country Gentlemen is its flip side musically. And yet, although it is acoustic and gentle rather than electric and brash, it is arguably even more uplifting.

It is never easy sharing in the raw emotion of someone else's life, but I feel honoured to be allowed to share Pearson's heartfelt confessions. I hope he found it cathartic. The music it has given rise to is a wonder.

This album took me on an emotional journey. Starting with excitement and anticipation based on the rave reviews, followed by disappointment, then irritation, and finally I actually got angry that someone saw fit to inflict this lump of self indulgent twaddle on the world.

I'm a big music fan, with very diverse taste, and I do like a bit of melancholia... and I really did try with this album, giving it several listens... but in the end I found it so 'moving' that I was compelled to move to my CD player to turn it off.

Seven excruciatingly long, droning whinges, based on a single musical idea which he then repeats throughout the album, so the songs merge into a single, endless swamp. All sung in a voice so dripping with theatrically over-emphasised angst that you'd want to slap the guy - if your mind hadn't already gone numb with the sheer tedium of it all. And boy, does he go on! And on, and on, and on - half the songs are over 10 minutes of aimless musical porridge. And just when you think a song is over, it drags itself back like a sick old dog clinging to the last, painful, vestiges of life.

While there are some good moments - lovely strings on 'woman when I've raised hell' and 'honeymoon'- sadly those moments of beauty soon disappear back into the endless swamp of self pity.

I felt pain when i listened to this - the kind of pain you feel when you're cornered in the pub by an old alcoholic with a head full of excruciatingly dull, self pitying stories.

Do not buy this album. Unless you're buying my copy in a selfless act of mercy