Dressed up like Nebraska (1998)

8

Suburban Sweetheart / Dressed Up Like Nebraska / Invisible / Late Night Conversation / Flair / The White Trash Period of My Life / A Simple Thing / A Woman Lost in Serious Problems / Lavina / Reminiscent

You don’t discover a talent like Josh Rouse every day. Home was the first of his albums I bought and I was immediately enamoured by the young songwriter’s refreshing approach. After that, I had to check out the previous releases (this debut album and the EP Chester), and felt an equal amount of satisfaction about them, although the pop-element isn’t as prominent in those releases as it is in Home. Like Ron Sexsmith, Freedy Johnston and Jeff Tweedy (to name but a few), Rouse has a knack for coming up with endearing gems that combine elements from roots music (or “Americana,” call it what you want) and pop, with the main difference that Rouse is obviously more influenced by the heroes of his teenage years: it’s not unusual that you hear sounds and melodies in his music that are a bit reminiscent of acts like Echo & the Bunnymen, U2, The Smiths and The Cure (whose “Boys Don’t Cry” he regularly performs during gigs), not that common among American songwriters of his age I guess. His biggest asset, however, is probably his frill-less song-writing. Rouse not only understands that there are a few basic ingredients that a successful song should have, but also that there are a few things that can be omitted. His songs are as much about what is in them, as about what isn't.

As a gifted lyricist – one whose tales I used to compare to Freedy Johnston’s (sorry if it doesn’t make sense) – Rouse treats people and circumstances in the way the great Raymond Carver did: with a sense of dosage, compassion and empathy. I don’t know if the song “A Woman Lost in Serious Problems” is a reference to John Cassavetes’ movie “A Woman Under the Influence,” but it would certainly make sense to me. Artists like Cassavetes and Carver – and also Rouse - don’t need the grand statements but focus on everyday life – often at crucial and critical moments – instead, with recognizable problems such as communication breakdowns, heartbreak, loss etc. This is all extrapolated into the songs that often employ fragments of conversation (“Shut up, and listen”) or statements of dedication, doubt and disillusion. The album immediately starts off with one of the heartbreak motel songs: with shimmering guitars, subtle hints of cello and the steadily more propulsive sounding drums (straight out of a U2-song), Rouse lays bare his universe where people are stuck, lost in problems or contemplating their life so far. Although this song combines all the basic ingredients of Rouse’s melting pot, most of the other songs are either slow, brooding and atmospheric, or more up-tempo and poppy (a minority). The gentle roots-pop of “Dressed up Like Nebraska” proves that Rouse, a native of that state (although he’s been travelling through different states in his childhood and teens) gets a maximum effect out of a minimal arrangement, while producer David Henry (who also worked with Vic Chesnutt, Yo La Tengo and REM) provides sweeping cello parts. The should’ve-been-a-hit-single “Late Night Conversation” follows a driving pulse and boasts an excellent sing-along chorus that’s the best proof of Rouse’s melodic gift. Also “A Simple Thing” is a nice instance of Rouse hesitantly rocking out and it makes you wish he had included more of these songs.

Which is not to say that the introvert rootsy songs are slouches. “Flair,” for instance, evokes a late night atmosphere and hints at a tension that’s beneath the surface, but never really gives itself away, while sonic details such as the use of trumpet enhances its quality even more. The slow “A Woman Lost in Serious Problems” features probably Rouse’s most emotional performance, his nearly whispered vocals bursting with restrained passion, while the wailing slide guitar gently weeps along. The same could be said about the remainder of the songs as they all are postcards from a situation that’s not always to be envied, but where people are at least feeling and trying to find ways out of their poignant crises. A song that begs to be mentioned though, is “The White Trash Period of My Life,” an incredibly touching ballad that’s impossibly sad and gets to me every time I hear it. With the recurring line “Happy and willing to die for your love” and the addition of cello and violin it’s a song that targets the gut, and does so effectively. By far the longest track on the album, it’s worth every one of its 405 seconds. Dressed Up Like Nebraska should maybe have had a few more tracks that show Rouse’s love for pop (because I think he’s really good at that as well), but it’s already a very satisfying album as it is, with a strong collection of songs with a near-phenomenal one as the icing on the cake. We’re lucky to have Rouse around, because after a few failed attempts at making sellable music, he basically recorded this album at Henry’s house with the intention of releasing it locally. Luckily, it was picked up by the guy who’d become the president of Rykodisc, ensuring us that we can now marvel at the talent of one very gifted musician who as of today (July 20th, 2003) still hasn’t come up with a less than excellent release.

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Chester (1999)

8.5

Somehow You Could Always Tell / That’s What I Know / Table Dance / 65 / I Couldn’t Wait

Many people probably didn’t expect it on the basis of his debut, but sometime after its release, Rouse befriended fellow Nashville resident Kurt Wagner, frontman of the peculiar faux-country collective Lambchop. The two decided to make some music together, Wagner provided the lyrics, while Rouse put them to music. A weird combination you might say, as Wagner doesn’t really dabble in Rouse’s roots-pop and spare tales of everyday life, but the collaboration is simply excellent. Chester is made up of five relaxed, shimmering songs that stress both the main contributors’ talents, and - aided by competent musicians such as Malcolm Travis (ex-Sugar, drums), David Henry (cello) and Lamchop’s Dennis Cronin (trumpet) - come off as exceptionally impressive. Wagner’s lyrics, like his Lambchop lyrics, are hardly average or even understandable, but somehow Rouse even succeeds in turning lines like “The bloody coup, upon the stairs, divide the socks, there into pairs” into perfectly passable bits of text. And also like Lambchop’s music, the songs here have often more in common with a mutant form of country-soul than the expected alt country, with only “Table Dance” sounding like a song that might have been included on Dressed up Like Nebraska, and maybe coincidentally, this is also the least impressive song (in my opinion) on the EP.

The elegant “Somehow You Could Always Tell” immediately distinguishes itself as one of Rouse’s best ‘ballads’ ever (he proves himself to be more than just a competent guitar player as well), while the more up-tempo “That’s What I Know” boasts a catchy trumpet line and a chorus that despite the surreal quality of some of its lyrics (“There is a wave of fear, morally self employed under the orange tree of the stubborn terrorist”) sounds heart-warmingly lovely. What “65” is about exactly, I don't really know, but it again offers proof of Rouse’s love for soulful pop, territory he’d visit more on subsequent releases. Finally, there’s the striking album closer “I Couldn’t Wait,” a song dominated by nothing but acoustic guitar, melancholy melodica (both played by Rouse), and the singer’s emotion-filled vocals. With a beautifully sad melody, surprising lyrics you just can’t get out of your head (“Covering you, cradle your head, hellacious view, salacious red, simple problems send the pain, you take your bike out of the rain”) and a great vocal performance it’s another highlight in Rouse’s and Wagner’s catalogue (OK, I must admit I haven’t heard all of Lambchop’s albums, but I’m still pretty sure of that). Chester is probably one of those ditties that went by almost unnoticed, but I’m sure that those who have this EP will confirm it’s an often a beautiful and always captivating release that’s way too short and ends too quickly, like all good stories. With the help of Wagner and co., Rouse again released a record you’d like to give to all your friends, not only because they would never hear about it otherwise, but because it’s so good you just want to share it with all the nice people you know. Or maybe it’s just the kind of music that makes me come up with corny comments like that. Anyway, just get it, it’s one of a kind.

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Home (2000)

8

Laughter / Marvin Gaye / Directions / Parts and Accessories / 100m Backstroke / Hey Porcupine / In Between / And Around / Afraid to Fail / Little Know It All

Home is the album that introduced me to Josh Rouse. It is also the album on which Rouse finally surrenders to pop (so to speak). Although several of the musicians that appeared on the previous releases and some of his “favorite” concerns are still present, Home sounds quite different, especially different from Nebraska. Whereas that album was something of an autumn album, with spare songs that often oozed out a chilly atmosphere, Home could be seen as an album fit to be played on a summer night. The atmosphere has become warmer, the tone of some of his songs is less dreary, while his knack for coming up with first-class melodies finally gets more freedom of movement. Take “Directions,” the obvious example: it was used in the big budget movie Vanilla Sky and it’ll take you only about 30 seconds to figure out why. Despite the not so positive lyrical content (“It’s easy to get caught and the weight of the world, it’s falling on your face, so unsure that you would”), it’s a song that sparkles with so much energy and infectiousness that it’s easily one of my favorite pop songs of the last 10 years. Shimmering guitars, an irresistible chorus and killer hooks turn this into a song you’d like to record 25 times on a 90-minute tape so that car ride becomes a total blast.

“Directions” is the most striking part of the terrific opening hat-trick. Before "Directions" came the appealing “Laughter,” the appropriate antidote to its theme (insecurity?) and “Marvin Gaye,” both of which suggest what Robert Smith might’ve sounded like if he had discovered (and used) sweet soul music. While this succession of songs easily eclipses most artists’ entire albums, the remainder of the album can’t really keep up with that ridiculously high quality, though there are several ingenious songs left. The funny sweet ‘n sour “Hey Porcupine,” for instance, brings together a delicate and dreamy pop melody with the sarcastic remarks (“Hey porcupine, where is you sharp ass wit today”) that make up his defence against the envy of others (“Did it please you to know that I completed a show that’s second rate?”), while the melancholy “Afraid to Fail” has verses that recall British post-punk acts such as The Smiths and (especially) Echo & The Bunnymen. But don’t let me give the impression that Rouse is a man without his own style and ideas! “100m Backstroke” is a beautiful ballad that shows that the addition of strings and vibes can turn a song into a delicious slice of music. Besides these songs, there are also a few that work less impressive (in my opinion), but they all have something going for them, whether it’s the one-note solo and ethereal ambience of “Parts and Accessories” or the restrained indignation of “In Between,” with (again) vibes and muted trombone. Come to think of it, the lone track that disappointed me somewhat was “And Around”: a bit too repetitive, long and uneventful. With this small batch of songs, Rouse again offers more than enough proof that he’s an original voice in American pop. His themes may not be heroic, his arrangements may not be grand and his albums may not be really innovative or explicitly confrontational explorations of his inner self, but he more than makes up for it by controlling the essentials of his craft. Rouse writes subtle, witty and confident songs that are perfectly suited to display his melodic gift and lyrical flair. Not afraid to show his own vulnerabilities and smart enough to use his strengths when they’re needed, Rouse’s own words in the touching trumpet-laden album closer “Little Know It All” need to be heeded: “Be on the lookout for me.” Damn right!

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Under Cold Blue Stars (2002)

8.5

Twilight / Nothing Gives Me Pleasure / Miracle / Christmas with Jesus / Under Cold Blue Stars / Ugly Stories / Feeling No Pain / Ears to the Ground / Summer Kitchen Ballad / Women and Men / The Whole Night Through

Although he was still involved with the recording of Under Cold Blue Stars, David Henry’s production duties are taken by over by Roger Moutenot, who previously worked with artists as various as John Zorn, Beulah and Yo La Tengo (and what a great job he did on And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside-Out (2000), an album on which Henry also appeared himself). Like that Yo la Tengo-album, Under Cold Blue Stars has a fresh and modern resonance, which turns it into the most detailed and “experimental” of all of Rouse’s albums. And Moutenot’s strength is, moreover, that he can make it sound very natural, very organic. There are more musicians contributing on this album, including Pat Sansone (bass, vibes, keys, etc), Marc Pisapia (Joe’s brother, who only plays on one song, but is the drummer of Rouse’s current band), etc, who all do a great job, but of course it doesn’t hurt that Josh himself has come up with another excellent batch of songs either. The elegant “Nothing Gives Me Pleasure” (an uplifting love song!?) has the songwriter singing in a higher-pitched voice than usual (from listening to Al Green and/or Curtis Mayfield maybe? – the album really sounds more soulful than his first three), which makes him sound more vulnerable, but it comes off great.

A song like “Miracle,” led by a keyboards melody, probably wouldn’t have fit on Nebraska, but the sense of wonder expressed in the song and the accompanying sonic details (man, this is one album you should hear with headphones) are another confirmation of Rouse's talent. For me, however, the album’s weight is in the terrific middle section: the irresistible title track has a gorgeous ‘70’s R&B vibe to it, with little details all over the place, and to keep that long fade out at the end of the song was a great idea. The driving “Feeling No Pain” just screams “SINGLE!”: it’s another song in which Rouse succeeds in combining a melancholy melody with a chorus that just has it, you know, that rare essence, seething with possibilities, sparkling with energy, and the typically British sound of the guitar (Rouse himself admitted that the solo at the end was influenced by Morrissey’s “Suedehead”) just tops it off. “Ears to the Ground,” the first cover on a Rouse-album, was written by James Phelan (a guy I had never heard of before) and it does sound different: with that particular drum beat, bass-line and the strings, it comes off as a graceful semi-disco song (really! I can’t be the only one with that impression, right?). Anyway, now I can get to “Ugly Stories,” my favorite track that I deliberately skipped. By far the longest song on the album, it’s a ballad about a love gone bad (“The sorry look in your eye doesn’t mean a thing”), with a minimal arrangement and a sense of dosage, but for me it’s the bridge section that really sets it apart, sends the shivers up and down my spine with the line “Believe in your doubts because I found out you can never trust in anyone.” All in all a pretty depressing message (“don't bother coming around you're not welcome anymore” is the next step), but Rouse never said he was the world’s jolliest songwriter to begin with.

The album’s also supposed to be some sort of concept album about a couple in the ‘50’s (his parents), but Rouse was smart enough not to make that too explicit (concept albums fail to often if they follow their own rules too rigidly, right?). Only during the last part of the album it is possible to detect this: “Summer Kitchen Ballad,” an acoustic snapshot, and the tremendous “Women and Men,” telling us the past can’t be erased, thrive on Rouse’s durable storytelling talent. Then we get to “The Whole Night Through,” the album’s poignant closing song, with which another Rouse album comes to an end. Somehow, I still feel I could’ve said more about this album, about that great bass sound in “Christmas with Jesus,” for instance, or Rouse’s knack for writing witty lyrics (“Sat in the kitchen with an asthma cigarette, out the window with an inch of regret”), but all of that should be clear by now. Under Cold Blue Stars sounds unlike any other of his albums, more experimental, more soulful and – in a way – more daring, but the end result is simply excellent. I don’t think Rouse has made his masterpiece yet, but I just feel (I sometimes fool myself I have that gift) he has it in him, so maybe the next album will once and for all make clear to everyone else why I consider him to be one of the most interesting contemporary artists. His upcoming album is called 1972, and is supposed to be drenched in that typical ‘70’s vibe (just go and take a look at his website which got a complete make-over recently, and you'll get the picture), and comes out in a month or so. Robert Plant, Mr. Wailing Banshee himself, recently confessed that he’s a fan, and I’ve been digging his stuff for three years now, so maybe that’ll convince you. There’s more out there than the crap that’s shoved down your throat every day by all those commercial radio stations, and Josh Rouse makes me looks towards the future with optimism.

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1972 (2003)

9

1972 / Love Vibration / Sunshine (Come on Lady) / James / Slaveship / Comeback (Light Therapy) / Under Your Charms / Flight Attendant / Sparrows over Birmingham / Rise

The makeover Josh Rouse’s site got a few months ago – lots of cheesy ‘70’s design – already suggested that his latest album would be very much oriented towards that decade, but it goes even further than that. Not only the package (Blaxploitation-meets-disco?) is proof of it, as Josh isn’t afraid to wear his influences on his sleeve either. Coincidentally, 1972 is not only his year of birth, but also the year in which Steely Dan and Jackson Browne debuted, in which Al Green delivered two classic albums (Let’s Stay Together and I’m Still in Love with You), Neil Young released Harvest and Curtis Mayfield Superfly. It’s not that Rouse has suddenly become a funkster or anything, but the vibe of many albums of that specific period is definitely there. Not only stylistically, the album delves deeper in the era than his previous albums, but also the sound (extra kudos go to producer/musician Brad Jones for giving the album a warm and natural resonance) very much refers to the era when albums nearly always sounded good. After the big set-up, we just had to wait to hear what Josh could come up with, and boy, isn’t it great when the actual product meets your expectations? Far from releasing a hollow genre exercise, Rouse only moved on, creating a record that’s a superb combination of his contemporary songwriting and retro accents/packaging.

The title track starts off quite humble, by mentioning Carole King and offering a few random snapshots of everyday life in ‘72, before transforming into a slice of lushness that combines the sensuality of Al Green with Rouse’s own knack for melody. More of that in “Love Vibration,” which – if it had been released a few months earlier – would have been the main contender for ‘Single of the Summer’. Boasting a ridiculously infectious melody and lyrics (“Step out into the sun, step out into the world and love someone” – what the hell?), it’s the most unapologetically sunny song he’s ever written, one that’s out there to make you shake your booty, and it’s been a while since I heard a song that turned the use of Wurlitzer, flute, sax and vocal harmonies into such an advantage. However, for each song like “Love Vibration,” there is also a song like “Sunshine (Come on Lady),” a more straightforward song about high expectations of finding happiness in the sunny West, or one like the escapist tale “James,” an absolute album highlight. A funky track that includes Mayfield-percussion and even falsetto vocals (courtesy of Rouse and Tim Keegan), it’s the kind of song that was waiting to be done by Rouse. It’s not on a lyrical level that things have changed (“James” is basically another example in a series of drop-outs, people who suddenly are confronted with an unease that instigates the need for a drastic turn), but the package is different this time. Similarly, the piano-led intro to “Slaveship” brings him closer to Randy Newman than he’s ever been (quite remarkable, since Newman’s 1972 album Sail Away starts ofs with a song about slave trade), but it soon enters more rocking territory with yet another irresistible chorus (“I told you a thousand tiiiiiiiiiimes”).

As if this isn't enough for variation, the second half of the album continues the sonic mixture with the brilliant “Comeback (Light Therapy),” basically another song about love and longing, but one that gets another dimension since the request is also addressed to the sun (“So tired of waking up and it’s dark”), which is absent for several months of the year in some parts of Scandinavia (where Rouse often ends up), often resulting in depression because of the lack of light (S.A.D.). A not so joyous matter, but quite perversely it’s one of the most thrilling and catchy songs on the album, a slice of retro-pop (watch that bridge!) that’s over all too soon. The lovely ballad “Under Your Charm,” easily the ‘darkest’ track on the album, treads on more familiar grounds, sounding closer to his previous releases, while “Flight Attendant” boasts an atmosphere that’s more Fado mysticism (it must be the harmonium) than pop. Touching and captivating, its best moment arrives with the terrific explosion of sound towards the end, when the song transforms into a melancholy waltz. What an excellent idea that was. As if this isn’t enough, we also get the quiet haven of “Sparrows over Birmingham”, a sparse acoustic song – complete with gospel vocals provided by James Nixon (who sounds a bit like Solomon Burke) – that’s a fitting link to album closer “Rise,” a wonderful last chapter with an intense crescendo that would have fit on any of his albums. Although my far-fetched (?) comparisons could make you presume 1972 is, more than anything else, a celebration of his influences, that's not entirely correct. It’s Rouse’s fourth and best full-length album, one that resides in its very own universe and above all shows you what happens when an inspired talent like Rouse delivers himself to the joy of making music. If you weren’t already aware of it, I’ll tell you know: Josh Rouse is making music for the ages.

Note: The first copies of the album come with a bonus DVD, which contains live footage, the hilariously groovy "Love Vibration" video, and also a short documentary on Rouse (Fact/Fiction), that doesn't provide the Rouse-fan with new information, but which gathers more live footage, radioshow performances, and some short interviews with some of his collaborators (producer Brad Jones, Kurt Wagner, etc.).

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The Smooth Sounds of Josh Rouse DVD (2004)

8

DVD - Live Concert: Comeback (Light Therapy) / Love Vibration / Sunshine / Under Your Charms / Slaveship / 1972 / Rise / Feeling No pain / Miracle / Under Cold Blue Stars / Late Night Conversation / Directions / Flight Attendant // The Many Moods of Josh Rouse (documentary film)

Rarities CD - Michigan / Princess on the Porch / Knights of Loneliness / I Just Want to Live / A Well Respected Man / Kentucky Flood / Pittsburgh / Me Gusta Dormir / Scenes from a Bar in Toronto / Smile

Way too often, music DVD's are nothing but cash-in releases by greedy, corporate labels that like only one thing better than exploiting an artist: ripping off the music fans. Way too often, music DVD's are hastily compiled collections of videos or registrations of concerts by mind-blowingly revolutionary artists at the incredible peak of their inhuman powers - and usually it only amounts to flashy camera angles, imbecilic promo babble and a whole lotta drivel that doesn't even come close to offering you a hint of the real experience. Once in a while, however, you'll stumble into a pleasant exception, and The Smooth Sounds of Josh Rouse is just that. The DVD contains an hour-long concert filmed on New Year's Eve 2003 in Rouse's (former) hometown of Nashville, Tennessee. His sunny pop-masterpiece 1972 had only been released a few months prior to that and the set list consists mainly of sunny singer-songwriter vignettes. The liner notes to the DVD are ecstatic (well, you still gotta find the first label that only betrays indifference towards their artists, right?), and certainly exaggerated. Rouse is indeed a "gifted singer" (albeit one who excels at making the best out of his limitations) and a "talented guitar player," but calling him a "superb entertainer" is stretching things a bit. This is not to suggest the little guy's an anonymous hack just standing there, but you can hardly call him a party animal on stage. Still, Rouse and his four-piece band (Marc Pisapia - drums, Hags - bass, Curt Perkins and Daniel Tashian - both keys and guitar) had obviously been road-testing these songs for a while, as the interplay is tight, while not coming off as being just a routine affair. Rouse had come to a certain point in life where he felt like creating feel good-music and that's exactly the vibe of the concert. While the band swings through the 1972-songs, pessimism with disappear into thin air, though you might occasionally long for the additional horns from the album. After a first bunch of new songs, Rouse briefly picks a few songs from earlier albums and ends the set with "Directions" (still his purest power-pop song) and an excellent version of "Flight Attendant," a grand and appropriate closing song.

The DVD also includes The Many Moods of Josh Rouse, a documentary film by Matt Boyd. There are quite some overlaps with the DVD that was included in the first editions of 1972, but it nonetheless paints an interesting picture of the artist, using all kinds of footage and music, some of which was previously unreleased. The footage is diverse - radio show appearances, backstage boredom, recording at home, interviews with colleagues (Lambchop's Kurt Wagner, producer Brad Jones, guitarist Curt Perkins, etc) - but most revealing are the bits where he discusses the direction of 1972 (his brightest album at that point and probably one that shocked a few fans of his moodier early work), the desire to create something timeless/universal and his reluctance towards touring and 'obligations' like meeting the fans. It portrays Rouse as an extremely self-confident and organized guy, a man with a plan - he even predicts his latest release, the cinematic Bedroom Classics, Vol. 2. You're definitely in for a disappointment if you were expecting the rock & roll lifestyle and accompanying seedy stories. Whereas the documentary is already a nice bonus, the inclusion of a bonus CD of rarities is what really makes this a winner. It's not that the quality of these ten songs turn it into a collection on a par with his albums, but these B-sides, previously unreleased songs and other assorted tracks are hardly what I'd file under mediocre filler. The acoustic "Michigan," a song that already appeared on his rare EP Bedroom Classics, Vol. 1, has an atmosphere that leans towards his more serious early albums, while also the theme (the song is a letter to his parents, which he left because he "just couldn't stay in that town where everyone knows everything about me") revisits the classic Americana-topics. Another highlight is his lush version of The Kinks' "A Well Respected Man," which already appeared on a tribute album. The remaining songs can all be filed under the "mellow"-header, ranging from the melancholy pop of "Kentucky Flood" and "Princess on the Porch," to the swaying "Me Gusta Dormir" with its wonderful trumpet-led finale and the introvert ballad "Smile." In some cases, it's understandable these cuts didn't wind up on his albums, certainly when you bear his high standard in mind (some people are still smart enough to release 10 song-albums that are satisfying from start to finish), but it never falls flat. As such, this generous, fairly-priced package is a nice addition to Rouse's catalogue, which is turning into something that's quite impressive (and allegedly, his sixth album is set to be released in March of this year). (Jan. 3rd, 2006)

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Nashville (2005)

8

It's the Nighttime / Winter in the Hamptons / Streetlights / Caroliña / Middle School Frown / My Love Has Gone / Saturday / Sad Eyes / Why Won't You Tell Me What / Life

Five albums and an EP in seven years, and not one of them is less than excellent. If that doesn't make Rouse one of the most dependable and consistently entertaining songwriters currently around… It almost makes me wish he'd come up with something mediocre, so he could at least give the competition a sparkle of hope. Nashville appears right after a quite turbulent period in the guy's life (a divorce, a move to Spain), but basically it continues the accessible pop delight that 1972 was. It's perhaps harder to classify some songs (on 1972, you could really tell where he tried to emulate slick 70's soul or Westcoast-pop), but it's also an indication that during Nashville's best moments, Rouse has perhaps even become better at mixing all those influences into an ultra-catchy whole, internalised the sound and vibe completely. It also makes him stand out from the pack, since most of his colleagues out there apparently feel the need to become less transparent and by consequence are indulging themselves in more obtuse arrangements, refusing to be pinpointed. Rouse, on the other hand, has been moving away from the deeply introspective alt country he started out with. That doesn't imply his stories have become more superficial and less personal, it's just that they're wrapped up in more instantly likeable melodies and a sunny production (again courtesy of Brad Jones) that's usually there, even though the subject matter can be quite as dark and personal. Nashville somewhat lacks the coherent vision of 1972 and isn't as consistently thrilling (some songs come off as a bit fluffy), but it works as an excellent collection of ideas and songs he's been writing recently and if he continues at this pace, he'll have a gigantic and amazing oeuvre by the time his fingers become rusty with arthritis. There are a few songs that don't pack the punch of the highlights after a few listens: the Freedy Johnston-styled "Caroliña" has neat verses but a chorus that's a bit too lazy and repetitive, "Middle School Frown" does the reverse and only starts to blossom during the chorus, while the swinging R&B of "Why Won't You Tell Me What" has a nice groove going, but seems more of a 'fun-track' than a substantial part of the album. However, the remainder of the album is very pleasing and especially the opening three songs are bound to end up in people's personal list of favorites for a while. "It's the Nighttime" is pop as pure as it gets, with a gentle, acoustic introduction before the song picks up a charming, danceable groove (with some excellent pedal steel-parts by the still-present Curt Perkins) reminiscent of earlier stunners like "Love Vibration" and "Comeback (Light Therapy)." The single "Winter in the Hamptons," is possibly even better, a wonderfully balanced pop gem paying tribute to his British heroes (the guitar work owes to bands like The Smiths and The Sundays) and a meaningless chorus ("Padadapapaaaa") only Josh Rouse can pull off nowadays. If you're a sucker for sugary, orchestrated pop, "Streetlights" is gonna be your best friend, as it again incorporates a terrific sense of melody, employs a hesitantly sexy groove and classy strings-arrangements. Some people will consider this not done in an age in which creamy pop is looked down upon (indietronics, maaaaaan!), but hey, some people are always wrong. How many pop singers are you familiar with that can compete with this? And there's more: "My Love Has Gone" (probably one of the few direct references to his marriage) is a beautifully executed slice of melancholy dream-pop, "Saturday" a cosy ballad that would turn many contemporary nu-soul artists to shame and "Life" a disarmingly simple declaration (he nearly enters Devendra Banhart-territory here) of embracing life. Finally, there's "Sad Eyes" (which appeared in a more bare-boned version on the rare EP Bedroom Classics), the personal favorite that, like "Flight Attendant" on 1972, basically consists of two songs, a gentle piano ballad (the first half) and then, after nearly three minutes, a joyful bounce that's as infectious as anything Rouse has ever done before. It's during moments like these, when he touches upon classicist pop in his wholly personal way, coming up with melodies that immediately pay rent to reside in your mind, that you realize this guy is one of the most worthwhile artists around (while the playing by his backing band is excellent as well). The album title is a bit ironic, because it's more something of a kiss-off to a previous chapter in his life (although it was recorded in that city and does contains hints of its music culture), but that doesn't make him less interesting as a musician. Nashville isn't exactly the stunning modern pop classic that 1972 is, but its best moments are among his most memorable material and that's already enough to claim that Josh Rouse is still one of the most reliable artists currently around. What a guy.

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Bedroom Classics, Vol. 2 EP (2005)

6.5

Neighbor-Hoods / The Last Train / Oh, I Need All the Love / Soul'd Out / Daylight Savings Time

Part soul-searcher, part neo-classicist, Josh Rouse is somewhat of an anomaly among contemporary singer-songwriters, certainly when you take his impressive productivity (he'd do well in the tumultuous 60s) into consideration. He's been releasing well-crafted albums since the late 90's and even though none of them was a stylistic U-turn compared to its predecessor, he has succeeded in creating an enduring catalogue that is both immediately recognizable and diverse. That he managed to keep his albums surprisingly filler-free is amazing, but one day or other, this productivity just had to turn against him, and it might very well be the case with Bedroom Classics, Vol. 2. However, the 5-song EP (named after his own imprint) is clearly intended as a kind of makeshift treat, so perhaps it would be unfair to have high hopes (moreover, the sixth full-length will be released in three months). The first Bedroom Classics contained a few songs that somehow didn't fit on his albums or that would eventually wind up on them in a different version ("Sad Eyes"), but this one seems more like a stylistic detour, a one-off. Instead of fully-fledged pop songs, Rouse seems to concentrate on mood and textures, living up to his prediction that he'd like to do something cinematic and less concerned with structure. Whether his recent move to Spain has anything to do with it, I'm not sure, but these five cuts sound as if they were composed in a hammock: laidback, minimalist and mellow. Rouse has become a modern-day Shuggie Otis, only less ambitious. The first two songs on the EP are so smooth that you hardly even notice they're there: gentle acoustic strumming, fluttering background sounds and humming during "Neighbor-Hoods," subtle strings, some twangy lounge guitar and a cocktail party vibe in "The Last Train." It's ear candy, yet also a bit lazy. The next two songs are more song-oriented and feature actual vocals, but they're also more dependent on lushness (the former) and mood (both), as they're far less hooky than his album material. With its piercing slide, horn melodies and brush strokes, "Daylight Savings Time" sets a fine, relaxed mood, but you can't get rid of the feeling that it's just a rudimentary sketch, a pleasant hint of what's yet to come. As such, Bedroom Classics, Vol. 2 is a decent stop-gap release that ultimately lacks a bit of character to lift it above the heaps of other "decent" releases out there. They're fine strokes, yet the bigger picture is still missing. I have no idea whether the upcoming Subtitulo will continue this direction, but if it does, Rouse will need more tricks up his sleeve to grab the listener's attention for ten songs.

Note: The EP was released exclusively on iTunes in November, but in the meantime it should be available on CD as well.

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