Makers

~AbsolutePunk.net:

Rocky Votolato is the type of musician who makes my job easy. His voice and his sound are as one so picturesque and evocative, the descriptive adjectives and sonic metaphors could practically write themselves. A throat warming whiskey, the crackle of a dim hearth flame, a creaky wooden rocking chair, and the homely twang of a handmade acoustic guitar... if there was ever an image projected by musical composition, this is that of Rocky Votolato's Makers.

In many senses, Makers is an album you'd expect from someone much older than Rocky V. Whereas Suicide Medicine seemed made to accompany a road trip slideshow (and Makers does as well to an extent), Makers gives a stronger vibe of a more stationary, road-weary Rocky; riper with a few years of age, pensive in reflection, contemplative of his rung on the ladder of success and love, and confidently deliberating the slow road to the grave. It's a meditative pleasure to hear these ruminations in audio format and worth listening to if only for the invigorating refreshment of hearing acoustic rock with maroccas, slide guitar, tambourines, and harmonicas done right, ohhhh so right. All too rarely are we afforded the opportunity to enjoy this winning combination in such pure form.

Again as always, Votolato exercises his knack for tearing - and I mean tearing! - into the human core with soulful chords and worn melodic vocals. There are times where the laceration in your heartstrings is almost tangible, and this is by no means a relationship record. The romantic words penned for "The Night's Disguise" ("the clouds are holding up the dawn / they're stilts or crutches I can't tell which one / to keep the short days looking longer / or to keep the sunlight from falling on broken legs / but the night's disguise is wearing thin") work in beautiful contradiction with the convictive chorus; it's a juxtaposition that stirs me every time. In other highlights, the piano accompanied outro of "Goldfield", the rat-tat verses of "She Was Only in it for the Rain", the dreamy finger picked conclusion of "Streetlights", and the blossoming harmonies in "White Daisy Passing" all make for a thoroughly satisfying listen. I imagine that if we lived in an era that idolized brilliant singer/songwriters, Rocky would be a fan favorite.

As a record, it shares a similar flaw with Suicide Medicine. Until you've had repeated sittings, several tracks may fail to grip you, especially towards the tail end. It is also not as instantly attractive as Rocky's past efforts, but picture it in this manner: you've encountered the attractive young adult, and now allow me to introduce you to the wrinkled elder man. Don't necessarily favor immediate appeal, but instead, seek out the wisdom within... then make your judgments.

Mine? Makers is as intoxicating as the whiskey after which it's named.

~AbsolutePunk.net

Rocky Votolato writes like he's just come back from a near death experience. Many of these songs are filled with a quiet desperation over some introspective awakening about his mortality; and nonetheless they're comforting. His voice is somewhere between Slaid Cleaves and Paul Simon on the emotional richter scale and it calms and soothes and sedates.

Mostly acoustic, with wonderful harmonies and a perfect pace; Makers is good music to chill out to and reflect on the past, present and the unknowable future. As Rocky puts it, "heaven or heavenless we're all headed for the same sweet darkness". If we all embraced that notion, we'd have little reason to disagree.

Highly recommended!

Ahhh, the lonely ballad of the singer-songwriter. A lone troubadour, pouring out their heart and soul, naked and alone, with no band to hide behind, no crashing guitars and pounding drums to shield their delicate psyche.

There was a time when being called a singer-songwriter was a badge of honor. But now, we might just as well turn tail and run. Sure the legacy of singer-songwriters is a mighty one: Bob Dylan, Elton John, Gordon Lightfoot, Janis Ian, Cat Stevens, Jim Croce, James Taylor, Van Morrison, Joni Mitchell, Donovan, Bruce Springsteen, but you'll notice a serious dearth of more -modern- musicians in that league. That's not because there aren't singer songwriters anymore, it's just that now, we typically equate singer songwriters with commercial radio, faceless pap, bad top 40, coffee houses, guys who couldn't start a band so decided to just 'do it themselves'. I'm definitely generalizing, sure. There have definitely been some notable exceptions, Iron And Wine's Sam Beam, Damien Jurado, Edith Frost, Elliott Smith, Joel Phelps, Devendra Banhart, Cat Power's Chan Marshall, Simon Joyner, Fiona Apple, Jeff Mangum, Sufjan Stevens, Will Oldham, and now you can add Rocky Votoloto to the list.

Now the funny thing is, as I mention again and again and again, if Votoloto had chosen to release this record under the name Waxwing (the name of his previous band) it probably wouldn't get lumped in with the singer-songwriters at all, and might even get a bit more attention, even if it sounded exactly the same. That's why it's always better to make up a band name even if it's just you. I've said it before, I'll say it again. No matter how cool you think your name is, unless it's Van Halen or something like that, think again! Try this out: "I'm going to see John Smith". Or "I'm going to see Black Dungeon Firefly". Or "Strangle Flanger". Or whatever. You get the idea.

Anyway, before this review loses any more of its momentum, let me just say this is one of the most beautiful records I have heard in ages and mere months into the year has most definitely secured a spot on my 2006 top ten list!

Votoloto has a gorgeously husky, whiskey soaked voice, and has an amazingly deft touch with melody and harmony. The first track is a dead ringer for Iron And Wine, delicate steel string guitar, hushed breathy vocals and sweet sweet harmonies, but the rest of the record is not nearly as restrained. Votolato's vocals are too rough and raw and powerful to be tiptoe-ing and shuffling sad boy style. No, the rest of the record sounds more like that Nirvana Unplugged record, Votolato's vocals the centerpoint, raw and ragged, but thick and warm and completely intense and emotional, more raspy and sandpapery like Cobain or Spoon's Britt Daniel or even Pete Searcy from Squirrel Bait. Not to say that he can't get all smooth, cuz there are plenty of dark and delicate tracks, where the vocals glide smoothly over sweet mournful melodies and hushed melancholy moments.

But as with all "singer-songwriters" (sigh) it's all about the songs, and this record is so chock full of amazing songs. Dark and dreary, warm and weary, folky and twangy, hushed and indie, a perfect mix of Iron And Wine, Ryan Adams, Elliott Smith, Uncle Tupelo, Spoon, and all that stuff I love. Acoustic guitars, harmonica, lapsteel, organ all woven into perfect chunks of dark and dreamy pop and twang.