[rating=7.00]
If the title of Jeffrey Focault’s latest endeavor, Salt As Wolves, seems somewhat ominous at the outset, then mood is quickly affirmed by the music contained within. Considering the fact that Foucault’s often typecast as a pensive folkie — he’s married to a likeminded singer/songwriter and a notable artist on her own, Kris Delmhorst — it’s rare that he’s given to such overtly turgid ruminations. Never mind the fact that his songs have contributed to the scores of such striking melodramas as “Sons of Anarchy” and “Nashville,” his image remains one of a wayfaring minstrel with a pensive perspective and an overtly inward gaze.
This time around however, Focault seems prone to inhabit darker and denser realms, the swampy sentiments cast in what appears to be a decidedly mournful malaise. Indeed, there’s a weariness that inhabits these songs, from the despairing take on “Des Moines” to the bleary-eyed perspective that colors “Slow Talker.” Most of the rhythms move at a trudging pace — “Rico,” “Jesus Will Fix It For You,” “Paradise” and “Oh Mama” in particular — making it appear as if Foucault’s chosen to inhabit a world where time sits still and he’s in little hurry to nudge things forward.
That said, there may be cause for Foucault’s somewhat sullen perspective. There’s a sense that he opted for a somewhat bluesy barometer, where dire expression is often the most formidable approach. “Blues for Jesse Mae” finds him embracing the form with a ferocity that’s particularly striking, especially given the laconic state of the material that surrounds it. Likewise, the slow moan that works its way into such songs as “Strange Heat and Thunder,” “Slow Talker” and “I Love You (And You Are a Fool)” would seem to befit one who follows his muse from coffee roadhouses to coffee houses, from the dankest clubs to the jumpiest juke joints, all out of a need to pay some dues, and with them, hopefully the rent as well.
Granted, Salt As Wolves will never be mistaken for a genial upbeat affair, especially given the despairing delivery that’s evident throughout. However, it ought to be remembered that the most incisive sounds are generally those that force the listener to lean in closer and take away some hint of emotional circumstance. This is one of those albums, and given Foucault’s intentions, it’s fair to say that he’s made his mark.
