Cotton Jones: Tall Hours in the Glowstream

Cotton Jones
Tall Hours in the Glowstream
Rating: 3.5/5.0
Label: Suicide Squeeze

The best name an Elephant 6 group never thought of, Cotton Jones Basket Ride reportedly began as a side project for Michael Nau, best known for his work with Page France. With Page France still showing no signs of a pulse as of 2010 - at least we won't have to hear any more nonsense about them being a Christian rock band - this detour has since developed into the musician's main creative avenue. The name would eventually be shortened to the more sensible Cotton Jones by the time of their debut Suicide Squeeze full-length, Paranoid Cocoon, an undervalued album whose psych-folk arrangements, slow, deliberate vocals courtesy of both Nau and fellow Page France member Whitney McGraw and dark-gray, impressionistic imagery marked a clear shift from Page France's indie-pop style and subject matter.

Follow-up album Tall Hours in the Glowstream is almost every bit as good and should make Page France feel even more like a distant memory for anyone still pining for that band's return. Nau and McGraw incorporate almost all of the key elements from Paranoid Cocoon without it ever sounding like a rehash: an atmospheric, smoky mix of organ, synths and steel guitar, occasional touches of lo-fi and two disparate voices that blend well together. Songs like "Sail of the Silver Morning" and "Place at the End of the Street" combine a '60s folk-guitar jangle with percussion, reverb and various other layers of instrumentation, working in various genres without sounding exactly like any of them. The dreamy, ethereal quality that shaped much of Paranoid Cocoon can also be heard on "Song in Numbers," "Dream on Columbia Street," the instrumental "Goethe Nayburs" and "Soft Mountains Shake," the last of which sounds like an undiscovered Peco's Blues outtake. All these songs are defined by an emphasis on melody and structure - the various musicians that play on these songs do a superb job - though each track takes a different approach in how that emphasis plays out.

But perhaps the most immediately recognizable and lasting aspect of Glowstream is how Nau and McGraw utilize their voices, both separately and in tandem. Nau sings in an expressive, pseudo-country twang, while McGraw's softer vocals feel like they float over these songs. Nau's vocals tend to be less muddled and more up front than they were on Paranoid Cocoon, most noticeably on "Somehow To Keep It Going," "Glorylight and Christie" and album highlight "Man Climbs Out of the Winter," a woozy steel guitar song whose lines about the passage of time are among the album's finest and most affecting. McGraw's vocals are likewise more prominent than on previous Cotton Jones records; she sometimes sings alone but more frequently underscores Nau's voice, an approach that succeeds best on album closer "No Things I Need (Like Some Time Ago)."

Out of these vocals come repeated references to mountains, sunbeams, water, flowers, rolling rivers, rain and weather systems. Though nearly every song expresses nostalgia for days long gone and also contain plenty of ecological wonder, they are tempered with images of mortality, aging and, thanks to the way the vocals interact, simple, sad regret. For all of its sonic playfulness, Glowstream is frequently introspective and subdued: "I number the years... I number the hours," Nau says at one point, later repeating a similar sentiment with the equally prosaic, if grammatically incorrect line, "We was feeling about twice our age/ Sitting in the pouring rain." Though it's Page France that first put Nau on that tiny indie map, with songs as good as those of both Paranoid Cocoon and Tall Hours in the Glowstream, it's likely that what began as a side project with a strange name will soon be what both Nau and McGraw can hang their reputations on.

Cotton Jones - Paranoid Cocoon

Paranoid Cocoon is one of those rare albums that reminds me of exactly why I like to review new releases. Sure, it's always enjoyable and perversely self-satisfying to rip some off where the scab used to be or to twist the knife a little deeper on a particularly heinous album. But any critic who says he always enjoys throwing darts at truly horrible albums that litter the world is either lying or a complete prick; no critic wants to endlessly punish his ears with such musical garbage. Most of us critics are, at least underneath the cynical and grouchy exteriors we display, hardcore if slightly unbalanced fans who just want to hear great music.

Cotton Jones Basket Ride is the latest vehicle for Maryland-based (and here comes that dreaded term) singer/songwriter Michael Nau, perhaps best known among indie psychotics for his work with Page France. That band would eventually release three albums that earned Nau comparisons to Jeff Tweedy and Conor Oberst (but shit, every quasi-sensitive singer/songwriter is compared to Oberst these days).

Nice company certainly, but such comparisons are woefully inadequate in trying to describe the sheer beauty and depth of Paranoid Cocoon. It's airy and atmospheric without sounding overly precious or dainty, musically textured and complex without being obtuse or inaccessible. It incorporates various genres and styles flawlessly; elements of folk and pop exist comfortably with the album's more experimental tendencies. Keyboards, guitars, strings, occasional horns and subtle percussion interweave to create lush and highly melodic structures; songs like "Up a Tree (Went This Heart I Have)," "By Morning Light," "Gotta Cheer Up" and "Blood Red Sentimental Blues" shuffle and sway with intricately woven arrangements. Both the main and background vocals float above the instruments. With a slight echo and hazy distance applied, Nau's voice occasionally sounds a bit like a slightly deeper version of M. Ward, though the vocal approach taken often differs from song to song. Though at times the music is reminiscent of Spiritualized in their more pensive and restrained moments, the album's overall sound is highly unique and equally hard to neatly define.

In keeping with the album's dreamlike quality, the lyrics are almost always impressionistic, vague and surreal. Though it's tempting to apply armchair psychology to the songs and interpret them in such terms, especially given the album's title, only a fool would claim to fully understand the lyrics. A variety of themes are suggested; several songs are sung from the point of view of a solitary figure, sometimes stranded in the rain and seemingly lost and lonely in an indifferent world. Specific phrases and images (especially pastoral ones) are repeated and recur throughout the album, usually accompanied with a heavy dose of melancholy and bleak humor. Certainly a sense of mental conflict and anguish is frequently implied, especially in "Up a Tree (Went This Heart I Have)," its companion song "Gone the Bells," "Cotton and Velvet" ("They got me talking to the bluebirds/ Honey honey where have I gone"), and "By Morning Light," where Nau deadpans: "I was crying just to see a tear/ Because I realized I hadn't cried all year/ It's getting better now."

Other songs explore themes of restlessness and movement. The ubiquitous train is mentioned often; it's used in closing song "I Am the Changer" before the narrator offers an ambiguous sentiment: "Everything has turned around/ Been waiting for a little change/ And when it finally came/ I just waited for another."

Paranoid Cocoon is a quietly insistent album that doesn't need screams, shouts and jagged guitars to make its presence felt. Its arrangements and vocals are atmospheric without being overproduced or cluttered, while its lyrics offer glimpses into their meaning without being incomprehensible. Music fans looking for an album that defies easy categorization would be well served to start here.

by Eric Whelchel