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Modern roots rock, for all its appeal to the nostalgists at the Recording Academy, too often lacks hunger and urgency. Bankable chops supplant creativity, and relevance pleas from B.B. King's graying coterie eclipse the fire-in-the-belly fringe. Left to the legends, The Heartland would smell like a Pottery Barn.
Califone are a reminder of how rusted American music can shine, given guts and imagination. Like fellow Windy Citizens Wilco, Califone use the blues scale as a small means to a larger mythical end. They'll slide a steel finger down an acoustic string, but they don't get sentimental about it. And while they don't need a trip up the mountain any more than T-Bone Burnett needs another aspiring hillbilly, they do feel compelled to plow the post-rock murk as they hand back Americana as a more expansive idea.
Califone principals Tim Rutili and Ben Massarella spent the mid '90s in Red Red Meat, siphoning off some grunge ethos and reshaping it into something at once rustic and experimental – like the Stones had shrugged off twenty years of complacency and remembered how to write lyrics. With Heron King Blues, their third album proper, Califone bring the same multi-tiered approach to their dusty dream visions.
Filling out the full stereo spectrum, they add a majestic dimension to their spare acoustic numbers, of which Heron King's "Wingbone" and "Lion & Bee" are fine examples. And Califone are among the best in the business when it comes to layering delicate melodic threads over gurgling sound collage (Wilco has had trouble sucking the self-consciousness out of the process). "Trick Bird" is the sound of dishevelment in reverse, its droning electric textures sliding in Eno-like among backward snippets, muffled banjo, and bone-jar percussion. "2 Sisters Drunk On Each Other" plays it tight and funky with clipped horns, snaking guitars, and a beat.
All his life, Tim Rutili has dreamt of a giant creature – half bird, half man. Discovering that the ancient Druids had just such a god in the Heron King, he themed this album accordingly. The singer's lines read a bit like a nightstand notepad, but they ring rich in the ears. Nestled in the track, his poetic murmurs poke in like narcotic readings from a minced fable.
Heron King Blues is as satisfying a listen as it is a brilliant creation – the work of a different kind of veteran. With invention high on their list of American traditions, Califone are writing the book on how to scrap the roots-rock script. There's hope in these blues.
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