Born in the dustbowl of rural Texas and raised in the Pacific Northwest independent scene, singer/ songwriter and sometime member of Waxwing, ROCKY VOTOLATO last haunted us in 2003 with the harrowing, voyeuristic observations of his brave third solo album “Suicide Medicine.”
And, while his new album “Makers” may be a little sparser musically and more economic lyrically than the unrelenting torrent of darkness he poured over us on “Suicide Medicine”s finest tracks (“Prison Is Private Property” and “Death-Right” especially), that doesn’t mean Votolato’s eased off the ‘fatalism’ gas pedal in the slightest. Give “Makers” a few spins and you’ll soon feel the clouds massing around his troubled soul once again.
Yet to suggest this is purely a grim, impenetrable affair would be doing its’ creator something of a disservice. Yes, Votolato’s oblivion-bound lyrical observations play a key role ( as early as the deceptively pretty opening track “White Daisy Passing” he’s into Rennie Sparks-style territory with lines like “There’s a secret place that I know/ where I could dig a grave and climb underground for good”), but his intensely personal songs are hung mostly on stark, but effective acoustic country-folk backdrops which draw you in from the word go and ensure “Makers” is a rewarding, if unsettling listen.
Despite its’ last-gasp fatalism, parts of “Suicide Medicine” actually rocked quite hard, but this time out only the emotional, yet rollicking “Tennessee Train Tracks” proffers a full band sound, and mostly it’s Rocky’s steadfast acoustic guitar and producer/ drummer Casey Foubert’s shakers and sparse percussion which form the bedrock. Rocky’s tough’n’tender vocals are always centre stage – and particularly effective when double-tracked on the likes of “White Daisy Passing” and the rippling, Elliott Smith-style “Uppers Aren’t Necessary” – while the additional overdubs are kept to a strategic minimum. It’s an approach that works well throughout and ensures that when special guests add their flecks of silver and gold ( most notably Foubert’s shivery, plucked violin on “She Was Only In It For The Rain” and bro’ Cody Votolato’s descriptive, Calexico-ish desert guitar squall on “Where We Left Off”) they lend just the right amount of weight and gravitas.
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Elsewhere – like on the bitter and helpless “Goldfield” – Votolato is stripped back to a skeletal acoustic folk sound, but it’s on the closing title track that he once again plumbs the intimate, no-return depths that made “Suicide Medicine” such a compelling listen. The song’s opening gambit is “death keeps calling me, she’s gonna set me free”, but it’s the kiss-off line (“heaven or heavenless, we’re all headed for the same sweet darkness”) which remains especially poignant, not least thanks to being accentuated by Kevin Suggs’ swooning pedal steel and a final blast of hymnal organ.
Of course, the simple fact that Rocky Votolato’s frank and hauntingly honest songs pull so few punches may disconnect his chances of that elusive crossover audience, but somehow I doubt that was ever the point. Along with the likes of Mark Kozelek and Chris Mills, it seems Votolato writes these songs primarily because he HAS to. So let’s hope he sticks around and staves off meeting his “Makers” for a long time yet, as we’ll be enriched by his presence in the long run.
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