Thanks to a series of impeccable albums, Georgia's Vic Chesnutt became one of the most important singer-songwriters of the 1990s. His songs, like those of most singer-songwriters, deal mostly with melancholy themes, but few can turn the pathetic into the serene like he can. In his lyrics, humility and good-naturedness mediate everyday tragedies, just as in real life his personality managed to live with being condemned to a wheelchair.
Chesnutt was playing harmless pop in a band called La De Das when in 1983, drunk, was caught in a car accident that left him (18 years old) permanently disabled. Chesnutt, under the aegis of fellow Athens musician
Michael Stipe
of R.E.M.,
vented his bitterness at first in the solo album
Little (Texas Hotel, 1990 - New West, 2004), deliberately locked in his solitude and devoted to an almost manic celebration of his status as a victim (Bakersfield was almost a plea for suicide) and assorted calamities (Mr Riely).
West Of Rome (Texas Hotel, 1992 - New West, 2004)
is equally depressed and personal, but less claustrophobically “solo” (if nothing else because it features a real accompanying combo).
If the bluesy Latent/ Blatant repeats a catchy refrain like a mantra under
Stipe's influence,
Chesnutt quickly establishes his core competence with
moving odes to the human condition
such as the Bob Dylan-esque Where Were You
and the piano ballad Florida,
returning to the bitter self-analysis of the debut in Withering and the stately West of Rome,
revisiting cryptic memories like in the Leonard Cohen-esque Miss Mary,
and probing depths of desperation in dirges like Sponge and
Panic Pure.
REM's influence shows up again in the one lively number, the trotting Steve Willoughby, and the closer Soggy Tongues intones a more upbeat melody.
The songs of this Daniel Johnston of Georgia are not particularly original (just very sad) but his
empathic rustic raspy
voice alone turns them into universal poems.
While missing Stipe, Drunk (Texas Hotel, 1994)
completes Chesnutt's stylistic evolution, averting a transformation into a conventional folksinger but at the same time also preempting a conversion to rock and roll; basically imprisoning him in a limbo of music-life
with highly emotional content that has no musical counterpart.
The album is a bit schizophrenic, swinging from
the rocking and ominous Sleeping Man
to the lifeless Nick Drake-ian lament Bourgeois and Biblical,
from the almost heavy-metal of Drunk
to the barely whispered Kick My Ass,
from the rousing REM-esque Sleeping Man
to the
relaxed tone of Supernatural and Naughty Fatalist.
His songs accept the sentence of an eternal existential defeat with the humility and pride of the damned reprobate, but also with the eccentric sarcasm of the “idiot savant.”
Is The Actor Happy (Texas Hotel, 1995 - New West, 2004)
is almost a
"sell out" by his spartan standards.
Most refrains are almost poppy.
The arrangements are functional to the lyrics, in a way that is reminiscent
of
Dylan's Blonde On Blonde (but with no Al Kooper-ian organ).
Gravity of the Situation exales a Band-esque refrain and decorates with idyllic fingerpicking.
The whispered Sad Peter Pan recalls a dejected Cat Stevens. This is the low end of the energy spectrum, shared with
the subdued country-rock Onion Soup, the talk-singing in the harmonica-driven Doubting Woman, the desperately slow electric suspense of Free of Hope.
At the other end of the spectrum there's
the thundering Neil Young-ian guitar work of
and there are the
Thumbtack
rousing REM-esque refrains of Strange Language (perhaps the standout) and Thailand.
In between there is a universe of heartfelt and moving melodies, best the evocative stately litanies like Betty Lonely.
How much the musician has matured is shown by the almost neoclassical closer, the strings-augmented chamber lullaby Guilty by Association.
Nine High A Pallet (Capricorn, 1995) is credited to Brute, which is most
of the band Widespread Panic fronted by Vic Chesnutt. The nine-minute
Protein Drink/Sewing Machine is an embarrassing attemp at replicating
the furor of Neil Young and the Crazy Horses.
The real inspiration comes out in the
coarse southern rock of Good Morning Mr Hard on.
Bastards in Bubbles belongs to the deranged country-rock of Dylan's Rainy Day Women Nos. 12 & 35.
The really good material, like the
organ-driven prayer I Ain't Crazy Enough and the
languid lullaby Westport Ferry, is buried in a generally underwhelming
collaboration.
About To Choke (Capitol, 1996) is in many ways an uncertain record,
a stew of different styles
(the hard-rocking Ladle, the pale imitation of REM in
Degenerate, the
confusing and rambling Giant Sands
aiming for a future that would be both more entertaining (the lounge-y soul-jazz shuffle Little Vacation) and more political (the rollicking New Town).
The trend towards longer songs (started in Brute) is a mixed blessing: See You Around doesn't justify its six minutes.
The stylistic crisis limits the emotional power of the words he utters.
Nonetheless, Threads (with folkish flute accompaniment), Myrtle and Swelters rank among his most tranquil gems.
Chesnutt left behind his southern gothic on
The Salesman & Bernadette (Capricorn, 1998), his most upbeat
album yet.
Lambchop's arrangements are a mixed blessing, as they detract from the quintessential Chesnutt atmosphere (bittersweet, humurous, populist) although they improve the sonic experience.
It works wonders in the chromatic, jangling and at the same time funereal Duty Free, it helps in the
horns-enhanced Rolling Stones-ian Until the Led,
but it drags in the pop-jazz ballad Replenished and it has an
almost comic effect in the brisk-paced jugband skit Old Hotel.
The band's brand of New Orleans rhythm and blues and Memphis soul is ill-suited
for Chesnutt.
The best arrangement is in fact found in the ghostly and noisy Square Room, where it is pure soundpainting. A close second would be the
martial piano-driven
choral invocation Blanket Over The Head if it weren't just one minute long.
Chesnutt keeps refining his singing:
the romantic ode Maiden is delivered in the vein of a soul shouter,
the six-minute Mysterious Tunnel is an agonizing raspy blues lament,
Scratch Scratch Scratch evokes a slow-motion dream,
and Arthur Murray is another tender tiptoeing lullaby.
Longer is not always better, as proven by the
monotonous seven-minute yarn Parade.
Merriment (Backburner, 2000), credited to
Vic Chesnutt and Mr and Mrs Keneipp,
is a set of Chesnutt lyrics
(mostly nostalgic vignettes,
notably Sunny Pasture and A Feather)
set to music pre-composed by Kelly and Nikki Keneipp.
(notably the garage-rocking Preponderance,
the piano-driven DNA).
The marriage is, however, awful.
Left To His Own Devices (SpinArt, 2001), a
collection of demos and rarities, proves, on the other hand, that
Chesnutt is a lousy arranger of his own music. Here he plays everything
by himself and the result is amateurish at best. Granted, these are leftovers
and hardly a match for Chesnutt's classic repertory.
The album does boast the ghostly Twelve Johnnies and
My Last Act, two of his most atmospheric dirges ever,
and the nine-minute Distortion.
Brute returned with the vastly inferior Co-Balt (2002).
A more serious and austere Vic Chesnutt surfaced on
Silver Lake (New West, 2003), which is also one of his most
band-oriented efforts with generally longer songs and fuller sound.
The notable exception is the moribund seven-minute I'm Through.
The new course is better represented by somnolent eight-minute hymn Sultan So Mighty, scaffolded by robust keyboards and choir.
However, the injection of vigor works well only in the solemn Styrofoam.
The choral singalong Stay Inside,
the hysterical country-rock Band Camp,
the bombastic 2nd Floor and
the exotic and electronic Zippy Morocco sound like interesting ideas
but summarily executed.
The prog-pop elegy Wren's Nest sounds like a minor lost Procol Harum song.
The anemic call-and-response of In My Way Yes, like a funeral gospel,
feels more original, and
Fa-la-La is at least catchy and rocking.
Chesnutt's high-brow new course continued on
Ghetto Bells (New West, 2005), featuring
VanDyke Parks
on accordion and
Bill Frisell
on guitar.
If the seven-minute Rambunctious Cloud is a monotonous experience,
and if the songs in general
lack the invigorating sound of his most musical moments,
that is largely compensated by more evocative arrangements and song structures.
What truly stands out is the otherworldly feeling that emanates from
the sparkling calm of the seven-minute Forthright
and from the dilated almost psychedelic madrigal Gnats.
The eventful seven-minute slow jam Rambunctious Cloud is a musical stream of consciousness even before listening to the lyrics.
The martial accordion-enhanced Stan Ridgway-esque epic Little Caesar,
the delicate dreamy elegy What Do You Mean? with female choir,
and
the melodramatic blues Got to Me
are all richly atmospheric pieces.
The grandiose orchestral pop Virginia is even his attempt at capturing a mainstream audience.
The instrumental strength that was missing on Ghetto Bells was
abudantly available on
North Star Deserter (Constellation, 2007), recorded with the
Thee Silver Mt Zion Memorial Orchestra
and many other guests. So much so that the instrumentalists can be considered
co-author of the album for all practical purposes.
The eight-minute Debriefing (a Neil Young-ian tornado of ear-splitting guitar riffs)
and the seven-minute Everything I Say (a martial, stormy hymn with religious organ and shoegazing guitars),
are so dense of sonic events that Chesnutt's humble voice and humble guitar
sound out of context.
At the same time Chesnutt seems to relish the loneliness of
Warm and Fodder On Her Wings (the two barest songs).
However, it is the soundscapes, not the lyrics, that carry the atmosphere
and the ultimate meaning of
Glossolalia (a less vibrant Cat Stevens in his Greek/Slavic phase),
You Are Never Alone (a relatively traditional country elegy with
multi-part vocals),
Marathon (a quiet lullaby wrapped in waves of distortion),
each devastated by its own set of cruel instrumental scaffoldings.
So much so that the eight-minute Splendid (devoid of such devices)
sounds merely overlong.
On the other hand, Rustic City Fathers manages to create a suspense-filled atmosphere with minimal guitar and percussion counterpoint.
Vic Chesnutt and Elf Power joined ranks (in Chesnutt's attic) to record
Dark Developments (Orange Twin, 2008), the way
Lambchop had helped arrange
The Salesman & Bernadette.
The band enhances
anthemic REM-ian refrains (Mystery and We are Mean) and even
adds garage-rock emphasis (Little Fucker) and
poppy Merseybeat flavors (And How) to Chesnutt's poetry,
but can't do much to rescue the two monotonous
seven-minute litanies that close the album:
The Mad Passion of the Stoic and
Phil the Fiddler.
At The Cut (Constellation, 2009), boasting Fugazi's Guy Picciotto and members of Godspeed You Black Emperor and A Silver Mt Zion
(de facto a return to the line-up of
North Star Deserter),
is surprisingly (for someone who was about to die) serene, fragile and
contemplative
(We Hovered with Short Wings, sung in falsetto over jazzy drums and weeping violin,
Concord County Jubilee, one of his most relaxed shuffles,
the fragile Granny);
although he can't help venting his anger towards fate in powerful and proud statements such as
Flirted With You All My Life (a dialogue with Death),
the cinematic melodrama Coward
and the seven-minute emotional crescendo of
It Is What It Is ("I don't need stone altars to help me hedge my bet against the looming blackness").
The noisy Chinaberry Tree and the wildly dissonant Philip Guston
sound out of context.
Vic Chesnutt died on Christmas day 2009 at the age of 45.
