![]() The stereotype is the gifted singer-songwriter as a type of literary whiz. McMurtry started playing guitar at age seven (first taught him by his mother, an English professor) but didn’t start writing songs until he was 18, he has said. Indeed, the often-surly glory of his artistry is piling up just a bit: Not only have I not yet written about his latest album The Horses and the Hounds, but I’ve also come to realize that his fullest artistry doesn’t just lie squarely on his most salient talent, the lyric-endowed song. That happens to involve an atypical genius which has been insufficiently addressed to date, in its artistic fullness. ![]() But he’s also only the peculiar kind he’s capable of being. It’s telling that Jason Isbell, a younger talent of superlative songwriting skills, has covered this song, with tender insight.Īs an American troubadour McMurtry rivals any we know today. ![]() Among his more indelible intimate American portraits is the stoic loser of “Rachel’s Song,” who might be quite typical of many contemporary divorced people, stumbling along spiritually on a deserted street. (As far as I know, McMurtry’s “Live with Restream” home solo concerts are only available on his Facebook page, which you can follow: )īut those songs are mostly anthemic, and clear hallmarks, whereas James is also an expert in understatement, of tracing the shadows of the underserved. You could make an obvious case for “We Can’t Make It Here,” too, or perhaps “Just Us Kids,” or “Choctaw Bingo.” The majestically big-picture “Long Island Sound” and one troubled man’s stunningly confessional “Decent Man” are more recent candidates. I think “No More Buffalo” is something of a signature song, and I think he feels that way, too. James McMurtry at home: He ended another Livestream pandemic solo home concert recently with that song, set his guitar down and said “thank you” to the silent audience that can applaud only with Facebook comments. Why and how? The guitar has plenty to do with it. He sings, “No more buffalo…” This thought he seems to care about greatly, as metaphor and as reality. So, he reaches over to the passenger seat, unbuckles his 12-string Gibson acoustic guitar, climbs out, leans against the car, and starts up a big sky-type chordal pattern. Part of him wishes he has a horse raring to go, instead of a smelly old car. He lifts his cowboy hat, wipes sweat off his grimy brow, then plops the hot hat right back on. James knows this, even as he commemorates, partially in Spanish, a deceased cowboy friend and his tradition in his recent song “Vaquero.” So, he turns off his vintage Ford Falcon convertible, peers at the horizon, the hot wind rippling his long gray hair. He could drive a cattle herd across that behemoth state, and beyond, like the one his father Larry McMurtry famously depicted in his famous novel Lonesome Dove.īut such epic drives are rare now, as cattle growing and marketing are bad for the planet. James coughs in the dust, but a man knows what he’s gotta do. Imagining James McMurtry in his element: He squints hard, and sees humanity and the world with laser vision, in the cruel Texas-glare sun, amid imperious cactuses. ![]() Upper Midwest McMurtry dates include April 22 at Old Town School of Music, in Chicago, June 11 at the SPACE, in Evanston, June 12 at Shank Hall in Milwaukee ( ), and June 14 at The Ark in Ann Arbor. He will perform solo in dates running through April, then continue with his band in May, on a tour running through the end of July. James McMurtry has embarked on his first tour in several years.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |