You folks call the music you play “Cosmic Country”. Describe how that style came to be. How would you describe it to somebody who’s never heard of SUSTO?

We used the term “cosmic country”  early on, but I’m not sure we would use that anymore. I felt like it fit what we were trying to do with the first record, we were going for a type of country that was both rough around the edges & far out.

Thinking in terms of the new album, I haven’t really thought of it as a “cosmic country” album until this interview, but I guess in a lot of ways, that description fits & I’m Fine Today better than the self-titled album. There are country or alt-country undertones throughout the album, but it’s wrapped in all these different genres to help keep it fresh and (we hope) interesting. It’s a fusion of roots, electronic, rock, and world music.

& I’m Fine Today is your sophomore album. Now that you’ve been playing cosmic country for a couple of years, have you met any imitators yet?

I wouldn’t say we have encountered imitators, although I hope that we have inspired some people. I mean, I think one of the coolest things about music is that everyone is influenced by everyone. We definitely have some heavy influencers, and it would be an honor for someone to consider themselves influenced by what we are doing.

& I’m Fine Today is a big step up from your debut. It feels like a whole other level, from the songwriting to the production. What’s changed since SUSTO came out in 2014?

I think the more time you spend doing something, the better you get at it. Plus, we actually had the time and money to make this record pretty much exactly like we wanted — within reason. I think that’s why there is such progress between the two albums. I still love our first record and I’m thankful for it, because people really latched onto it. And it made it possible for us to make & I’m Fine Today, to move forward and get better.

I think that continuing the conversation and making art for the sake of social progress is worth pissing a few people off.

You guys are from South Carolina, and I know your hearts are there. In the current political climate, what’s the response been to some of these topical songs, like “Gay in the South”, in the southern states you call home?

The reaction has been what we’d expected. A lot of people are very supportive and are happy to hear music that addresses real social/cultural issues at hand. Others have definitely pushed back. People have tweeted at me saying that I’m going to hell. Some of my family members have stopped talking to me. But you know what, I don’t care. I knew that would happen but I think continuing the conversation and making art for the sake of social progress is worth pissing a few people off.

Trump and others have made a lot of us feel like there are two very distinct sides in this country. I just don’t think that is true. There are definitely far right and far left ends of the spectrum but I think we have a lot of good people in this country (and in the whole world for that matter) that want to find common ground.

There’s a lot of fear mongering out there, a lot of “us vs them” mentality, and our goal as a band is to help combat that. We want to spread love and respect for humanity. We are trying to be a different voice than what people hear on the news or read on Facebook. Hope is a powerful thing. People told me when I was young that, when I got older, I’d realize that the world can’t be changed — that it is how it is and it will always be that way. Those people were fucking wrong about the world and wrong about me.

What’s a day look like for you when you’re on tour?

(laughing) It’s usually pretty boring. We spend a lot of time in the van just getting from one place to the next, or in hotels. This tour we have had a lot more press stuff to do, like this interview + radio, TV & a few in-store performances at record stores, that helps break up the monotony. Still, the best part of everyday is playing the show. That’s why we’re all really out here and that’s what we really enjoy.

We are trying to be a different voice than what people hear on the news or read on Facebook. Hope is a powerful thing.

Any current albums on repeat?

Still listening to a lot of favorites from 2016 (Whitney, Jonny Fritz, JPKS). But I’m looking forward to some upcoming releases this year!

As a band, what kind of legacy do you want to leave?

I hope that we can bring some joy to the world and help bring about some real positive change. Big or small, we just want to help if we can.

Thanks for spending some time with us, Justin!

The post Cosmic Country: Justin Osborne of SUSTO Wants to Inspire Hope appeared first on Unsung Sundays.

The music is ambitious and boundless, and & I’m Fine Today is SUSTO’s best crack at it yet. You can see the growth in album art alone: while their 2014 self-titled debut’s album art took a crack at Nirvana’s Nevermind, & I’m Fine Today embodies the psychedelic style of the 60s with album art that begs to be owned on vinyl.

& I’m Fine Today is a collection of fine songs, but it’s also a collection of fine stories. Many songs on the record stand out for their songwriting finesse, but almost every one is memorable because of the story they tell. “Gay in the South” tells an obvious story, but it’s one that encapsulates the record: one where Jesus isn’t the centre of somebody’s being, but rather somebody that haunts them.

“They promised us: ’You are going straight to tell when you die.’ I don’t even think it’s a real place,” Osborne sings on “Gay in the South”. On “Waves”, he asks: “Is there anybody in there, smoking weed with God?” On & I’m Fine Today, the questions Osborne asks aren’t strictly personal anymore. Now, SUSTO is asking the questions of their generation about the reality of a higher power — and whether or not that higher power is a benevolent force if its believers are not.

On the other hand, if philosophical questions about God isn’t your style, this is an album with a song called “Cosmic Cowboy” on it. So despite the life questions, there’s still space for some fun and games.

If the album has any central messaging, it’s earliest mention is in “Waves”. “The sun comes up, the sun goes down, and that’s what it’s all about,” Osborne sings in the chorus. And on “Jah Werx”, the final track, the band sings “Jah werx, and I’m fine today” throughout the chorus. When the lyrics come together, & I’m Fine Today is about God, nature, the rising and falling tides of waves as the sun rises and sets, and the way everything returns to dust when it’s over no matter what you believe.

Musically, & I’m Fine Today is a wonder. From the far-out style of “Far Out Feeling” (no pun intended) to the layered production of “Wasted Mind”, the songwriting and engineering are impeccable. But even more impressive is the storytelling of the record. & I’m Fine Today is a captivating, exhilarating record, and an astounding sophomore attempt from SUSTO that catapults them to the top of the league.

The post SUSTO: & I’m Fine Today appeared first on Unsung Sundays.

A critique aims to consider the art’s merits, but it also wants to consider its place in the wider scope of form. In the case of music, a proper critical review should discuss the meaning of the music, and its relevance to either an artist’s oeuvre or general society.

There are occasions, though, when critical thinking is pointless because, well, nobody cares — and it’s irrelevant. Michael Bay movies (Transformers), Dan Brown novels (The Da Vinci Code), or Pokémon video games come to mind.

But today I’m adding Lisa LeBlanc’s name to that list.

Why You Wanna Leave, Runaway Queen? is an insanely fun album that I can’t possibly critique. I don’t know how to describe the magic spell it puts on me, but its delightful mix of Americana, old-school rock ‘n’ roll, and garage rock attitude hits me right where it hurts.

The truth is right in the track names. “I Love You, I Don’t Love You, I Don’t Know” is delivered with all the panache you’d expect. “Could You Wait ’Til I’ve Had My Coffee?” is basically a constant barrage of delightful rock attitude. And yes, the country-style cover of “Ace of Spades” is perfect — and Lisa LeBlanc’s voice is amazing.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t talk a bit about her voice. LeBlanc is an excellent singer with the room-filling power of Metallica’s James Hetfield, and all the lazy attitude of Lou Reed in his prime. Her punk-y voice is a delightful antecedent to her music, which is often twangy and country-like — even if she doesn’t fully embrace the genre.

It’s hard to categorize LeBlanc’s style, actually. Most people consider her folk, but she’s the first to acknowledge her rock and metal roots. She’s dubbed her music “folk trash”, which I don’t think fits her — but it does get the point across.

Her quieter tracks (which are rarer), like “5748 km”, are more apt to fit that term. But those quiet tracks are rare. Songs like “Dead Man’s Flats” seem quiet, but are insistent on their astounding breakneck paces. Others, like “(Self-Proclaimed) Voodoo Women” start slow, but develop roaring rock personalities in their latter halves. (These tracks aren’t unlike the epic metal tracks that doubtlessly inspired them.)

The point of all this is that it’s hard to call Lisa LeBlanc folk rock. She’s dangerously close to post-punk, or garage rock — if she’s not there already. And as her band gets louder, so does her sound.

If anything, Why You Wanna Leave, Runaway Queen? demonstrates LeBlanc’s completed transition from “folk trash” to “rock ‘n’ roll diva.” It’s not going to light the world on fire for its social commentary, but it’s immune to these criticisms because LeBlanc’s music is just so much darned fun. It makes you want to air guitar, dance, bang your head around, and cheer.

If you’re looking for a record that does that — a record that knows how to have fun and reinterpret the attitudes of the past with new sounds — look no further than Why You Wanna Leave, Runaway Queen?. A rollicking, rocking success by any measure.

The post Lisa LeBlanc: Why You Wanna Leave, Runaway Queen? appeared first on Unsung Sundays.

I’ll start with the most obvious: she refused to be pigeon-holed. Every album Angel Olsen releases redefines her, placing her in a new spectrum of ideas and music that defy expectations. It makes it hard to write about her, because judging her by previous metrics is impossible.

Angel Olsen forces you to judge her present work in a vacuum.

Somehow, though, each record feels better than the last. Although comparing them is foolish, My Woman feels like the real Angel Olsen. But then again, so did Burn Your Fire for No Witness. (You see the problem here?) As always, My Woman is a statement. This time around, Angel’s got love on her mind.

“Shut Up Kiss Me” feels anthemic, while “Never Be Mine” offers a counterpoint to that song’s intense passion. The themes of the tracks are clear from the title, but the musical and vocal intensity that Angel delivers them with leaves no doubt about her intent with the track. Angel’s vocal prowess elevates the subject matter.

“Give It Up” feels like Nevermind-era Nirvana, and that feels fitting for Angel’s take on the despair of love. My Woman makes love sound constantly painful; even when it’s good, it hurts. It’s fleeting when you have it, infatuating when you don’t, and painful when it’s gone. Angel’s take on love is similar to the way Buddhist monks talk about pain: love, lovelessness, and unrequited love are all crazy moments in time that dissipate as soon as they materialize. And every change is a blessing and a curse.

At least, that’s what Angel says on the first half of the record. On the album’s second half — particularly “Sister”, “Woman”, and “Pops” — Angel makes the case for her womanhood. Similarly defined by pain and wreckage, this is Angel at her heaviest and most aware.

The two halves of this record are stylistically at odds. The latter half is so much slower and more subtle than the first, but it never lags — even while it sprawls into eight-minute opuses. On “Pops”, Angel’s distorted voice carries the weight of a two-ton hammer. “I’ll be the thing that lives in a dream when it’s gone,” she sings.

With that, Angel writes her thesis about love: it’s a thing of fancy, and the dream is better than the reality.

It’s fitting to me that there’s no modern comparison for Angel Olsen’s music. We often compare her to Dolly Parton — perhaps her clearest idol — but there’s obviously room to add Nancy Sinatra and Joni Mitchell to the list. Angel Olsen isn’t a throwback, but she captures the dreamy female-led pop prowess that many of us love and miss. My Woman captures that spirit better than any of Angel’s previous records. It’s Angel’s best and most powerful record yet.

The post Angel Olsen: My Woman appeared first on Unsung Sundays.

The fact that it relies heavily on a banjo is almost a side note.

Union Duke is a folk rock band from Toronto that sounds like they hail from the Deep South. On almost every track, there’s an inevitable comparison to Mumford & Sons — because they both have the same crossover appeal. But Union Duke remind me more of a more ballsy Avett Brothers.

Not unlike the Brothers, Union Duke has a deep understanding of bluegrass, country, guitar rock, and pop song structures. Even on slower tracks that don’t have the same level of forward motion, like “Baby Don’t Break”, the band sounds authentically country and rock all at once.

There are tracks that are more country than rock, like “Coffee/Whisky”. But they’re balanced out by rock ballads like “Golden Days (I’ve Been Down)” (which you should really watch this incredible live performance of) or “A Brief Romance” that, were it not for the banjo, wouldn’t feel out of place on a Tom Petty-produced Foo Fighters record.

If any track can be called out for sounding like a Mumford track, it’s “Fare You Well”, which appropriated even that band’s stylings. That’s not a complaint: because of their authenticity, Union Duke is better at the style than Mumford & Sons at that sort of music to begin with.

On Golden Days, Union Duke avoids the sophomore album by continuing to write great, inventive tracks. They fill the whole that the Avett Brothers and Mumford stopped filling when they became commercial. And when the album is over, there’s a sense of disappointment that there isn’t more to hear. That alone is proof of Union Duke’s success.

The post Union Duke: Golden Days appeared first on Unsung Sundays.

Yet The Cadillac Three are one of the only country bands flirting with rock that don’t come off as sell-out losers. The band is never less than completely authentic — it’s hard not to like them.

Part of that is because the band continues country’s time-honoured tradition of being America’s most fun party music. There aren’t many of the genre’s mopey songs on Bury Me in My Boots; instead, the band focuses on party tracks like “Hot Damn” and purposefully corny lyrical accompaniments like “You put the ‘hot’ in ‘hot damn.’”

At their best, the band is able to capture elements of rock and country at the same time. On “Soundtrack to a Six Pack”, the band captures the twangy timbre of country with the musical techniques of rock groups — complete with big riffs and power chords. It’s incredibly effective.

The band also has an incredible track pacing throughout the record that balances the country-flavoured tracks and the rock tracks quite well. “White Lightning” balances “Soundtrack to a Six Pack” well, reminding more traditional-favouring country listeners that The Cadillac Three aren’t forgetting about them. It’s a tricky balance, and the band nails it.

The tracks that are the most fun are perfect for summer: “Ship Faced” is the perfect party (or hangover) song. “Party Like You” is the perfect starter for a night at the country bar. The afore-mentioned “Slide”, “Peace Love & Dixie”, and “Hot Damn” are party monsters. There haven’t been rock tracks this good all summer.

A lot of Southern rockers can do good party songs — Kid Rock does great party songs despite making terrible music — but The Cadillac Three are the real deal. These guys have exactly the right attitude, the right swagger, the right verve. There’s nothing about them that feels out of place or fake. The nicest thing about Bury Me in My Boots that anybody could say is that it’s approachable, real country rock that’s perfect for a wide audience on a Friday night. The genre doesn’t get better than that.

The post The Cadillac Three: Bury Me in My Boots appeared first on Unsung Sundays.

But despite her ability to craft country music that tops the charts, it’s her solo work that feels most expressionistic. The Bird & the Rifle, which is her tenth record by my count, largely tells stories about women who can’t escape their negative relationships with bad men. (As a man, I don’t feel totally qualified to write about this, but I’m going to give it my best shot anyway.)

At her best, McKenna’s songs are powerful regardless if you understand what she’s talking about. “If Whiskey Were a Woman” hits like a punch in the guy. “Old Men Young Women” feels like a softly-sung plea. “Halfway Home” has lyrics that strike: “Calling the dreaming girls looking for a saviour; he ain’t gonna save you.”

“Wreck You” opens the album with McKenna’s voice, singing “I get dressed in the dark each day,” almost silent as the instruments slowly come in. Produced by Dave Cobb (the producer also responsible for recent efforts by Sturgill Simpson), The Bird & the Rifle has a disarming authenticity to it. It feels like McKenna is singing you these songs by the fire, sharing her story with you in trust.

Because of that nearly-alarming sense of intimacy, the album is better than it has any right to be. It’s the perfect combination: intimate, crystal-clear production paired with country-influenced Americana folk and great storytelling. The Bird & the Rifle sounds like a songwriter at the top of her game. As a result, the album is approachable despite its heavy subject matter.

The Bird & the Rifle is also an album of immense substance in its stories. It’s not just that they’re emotionally compelling; they also feel like a call to become better people. As a man, it feels wrong to comment on the obvious gender bias of the album; most of the songs are written from the perspective of the broken woman. These stories are all tragedies, but they’re also meant to be lessons.

As a result, The Bird & the Rifle elevates McKenna to a place of compassion — a rare quality in today’s music. During the title track, McKenna sings “He’s afraid if she flies, she’ll never come home again. Something about the bird in her spreading those wings always bring the rifle out in him.”

It’s a single moment among many that feel at once aware and sensitive of the situations women everywhere are in every day. The Bird & the Rifle is an album that should be celebrated because it celebrates women, and because it has compassion for them.

The post Lori McKenna: The Bird & the Rifle appeared first on Unsung Sundays.

The album’s standout tracks are completely unafraid of unconventionality. The previously mentioned Welcome to Earth becomes a celebration by the time it’s over. Keep It Between the Lines feels as country as it does soul. By the time you get to In Bloom, Sturgill’s (excellent) Nirvana cover, you’re struck by its traditional country flavour. Ironically, it’s one of the most straight-forward country tracks on the record — even when it gets louder towards its ending.

A Sailor’s Guide to Earth isn’t just unusual musically, although you’d be forgiven for not noticing the subtleties on your first couple listens. Simpson’s lyrics are uncompromisingly optimistic, likely because of the album’s theme: A Sailor’s Guide to Earth is a love letter and note to his newborn son. It’s clear that Simpson is full of hope and optimism for his son, and for the future generations.

There are no mopey tracks, and few moments that dabble in pessimism. Even In Bloom feels positive (largely thanks to its near-lullaby like state).

If anything truly stands out though, it’s Sturgill’s songwriting quality. He’s become a country superstar, one with an uncompromising creative vision. A Sailor’s Guide to Earth is his most accomplished record yet, and it feels as transcendent and intimate as Father John Misty’s I Love You, Honeybear did last year. For the first time in several years, we may have a serious country contender for album of the year.

The post Sturgill Simpson: A Sailor’s Guide to Earth appeared first on Unsung Sundays.

Perhaps Louris and the rest of the band took that as a challenge, but the album feels distinctly focused despite it being a potentially late-career releases from the Minneapolis. Louis has been served as the band’s sole frontman before, and has proven himself capable, but the second loss of Mark Olson makes his leadership feel even more important than before.

To be clear, the band delivers here. On occasion, The Jayhawks remind me of an era of rock that has long since passed us by. Pretty Roses in Your Hair reminds me of Donovan’s Hurdy Gurdy Man and Rod Stewart’s (I Know) I’m Losing You — not thanks to its pace, which is lethargic by comparison, but thanks to its tonal qualities. The band simply sounds vintage.

A large amount of this is owed to the album’s production style, which is not vintage but rather dense: Paging Mr. Proust is not afraid to be thickly layered, well-executed rock music. While it’s much more country than Donovan or Rod Stewart, the band plays with many of the same elements. Some guitar solos, if it weren’t for the production quality, would be buried amidst the guitar licks. The vocal harmonies are reminiscent of both Beach Boys and Allman Brothers, yet remain consistently original and brightly executed.

For many people, the music will be perhaps too brightly executed and optimistic. Quiet Corners & Empty Spaces feels charming to the point of being annoying, and it’s an admittedly unusual start to the album. The album’s best tracks tend to come along in its mid-section, where the band is playing to all of their strengths without any expectations attached. Songs like Ace and Isabel’s Daughter are remarkable in their conception and flow — not to mention each band member’s individual abilities.

That’s a great summation of where it feels like The Jayhawks are as a band: when the expectations are lowered, it feels as if they rise to the occasion and surpass them. Nine albums into a sterling (if under-rated and poorly acknowledged) career, perhaps they should be given the benefit of the doubt.

The post The Jayhawks: Paging Mr. Proust appeared first on Unsung Sundays.

The opening track kicks off with a heavy, meaty riff that’s purer gold. At some points, the band sounds like rock-influenced country music of decades past. Don’t reminds me of country rock as much as it reminds me of The Roxettes, complete with a nasty guitar riff in the verse that’s just as heavy as anything Mötley Crüe ever put out.

That style, going back and forth between 80s rock and country twang, is something the sisters seem very comfortable with. The album’s strongest track, When God Closes a Door, perfectly captures the sound of a Wild West bar fight. It’s partially the guitar parts, but it’s also Rebecca Lovell’s brilliant vocal work: she doesn’t sing the obvious melodies, but she notes she hits feel perfect in hindsight. Her singing gives the songs a sense of atmosphere they wouldn’t have previously.

Trouble in Mind is clearly influenced by the Black Keys, with a riff and vocal line that feels like it was lifted from Brothers.

The album’s pacing, which is decidedly front heavy, can prove to be problematic when the Americana tracks from Kin, the band’s previous output, get tagged on to the end. Tracks like Stubborn Love and Jailbreak feel much less energetic than the rockier outings on Reskinned, and instead of looking for a new tracking that would make the new material part of a bigger whole, the label’s taken the easy way out.

Perhaps the new material would have made a better EP. But it begs the questions: is this the last time we’ll get to so clearly contrast two sides of Larkin Poe? What direction are the Lovell sisters taking the band next? If nothing else, Reskinned gets us excited to hear more from Larkin Poe soon.

The post Larkin Poe: Reskinned appeared first on Unsung Sundays.