When the roots-punk band Uncle Tupelo announced they would be re-releasing their back catalog of albums, fans immediately buzzed about a possible reunion. Though, its been clear for quite some time that leaders Jeff Tweedy and Jay Farrar have revamped within their separate creative outlets. Most know that Tweedy went on and founded Wilco, which moved in a more pop-rock direction, while Farrar went out to make music in the rustic vein of predecessors like the Byrds, Springsteen, and the Flying Burrito Brothers with Son Volt. Since the musical separation, Farrar has established himself as part of American folklore, whose convincing baritone can make the words “penitentiary” and “gravestone” dash with poetic sincerity. While writing songs that explore the back roads of American music, and launching these traditions in adventurous new directions, Jay Farrar continues to reinvent his sound within the solo realm.
Terroir Blues is Farrar’s second full-length solo record, and the first released through his new label, Act/Resist Records. A much-anticpiated follow-up to his 2001 solo debut, Sebastopol, named after a city in Northern California that Farrar just happened to like the sound of. Sebastopol was written in loose keys and alternate tunings, and Terroir Blues follows that same adventurous path by sonically combining those elements within twelve songs, four alternate takes and a number of brief musical segues. It’s acoustic sound falls back in the vain of his quieter work, such as “Windfall” from Son Volt’s 1994 debut, Trace – an album that often generates comparison to much of Farrar’s current work. Does it bother him that his recent works are often compared to Trace, considered one of the landmark alt/country albums of our day? Farrar bluntly responds, “It probably bothers the people that are making the comparisons more.”
Terroir Blues garners an autobiographical gamut of sights, sounds, events, and feelings that Farrar put to music following the passing of his father last summer. One of those memories, as explained in “Hard Is The Fall,” was his father’s recount that he’d shaken the hand of Hank Williams as a child, with the lines, “Shaking the hand of the rambling man from Montgomery/ a music evangelist/ a never-ending quest.” Although Farrar still isn’t hundred percent sure of its validity as he candidly explains, “yeah, that’s the story he had, although there is no way to verify it.”
Regardless if it’s a tall tale passed from father to son, he does confess the passing of his father did somewhat throw him back into an autobiographical mode. “You look at everything from a different perspective when that happens, and just started writing. Terroir Blues is not necessarily autobiographical, but I was touching on observations and experiences, not to say I was touching on just my childhood.”
Further drenched in self-disclosure, the delicate piano-laced “Dent County” reminisces of his father’s Merchant Marine travels in the foreign regions of “Inchon” and “Bremerhaven.” In “California,” Farrar sings of the natural beauty of the state, within the hush lines of “no one could ever dream of a place like California.” A line that would make the tourism bureau squirm with optimism for the next marketing slogan, despite the state’s recent fiscal disaster.
Farrar speaks quietly, choosing his words carefully while speaking, perhaps not wanting his audience to read too much into words, although it’s hard to not look deep into a voice that feeds the imagination of America. When asked about his “fascination” with the heartland, the open road, and the working class, Farrar give no clear-cut explanation, other than, ” I’m always pushing in the direction of writing in a non-linear approach. Trying to put words together that are maybe out of context. I also care about the future of our country.”
But anybody who has seen Farrar play live feel as if they are eavesdropping on something that is so personal, that the ticket is almost not enough permission to be allowed inside. Farrar holds a serious presence, forcing the audience to respectfully listen and make their own portraits of Farrar’s words, although one would be surprised when he mentions, “there’s a personal touch to it, but I don’ t try to write in introverted ways.”
Within the twenty-three tracks are four alternate versions, and Farrar generously sites the Flaming Lips as an influence in his releasing alternate takes on songs — quite an unlikely band to steal some ammunition from. Although he makes quick mention that ” I haven’t broken out the fluff things yet,” in reference to the band’s theatrical set-up of dancing costumed animals, confetti and fake blood — a far cry from Farrar’s simple stage presence.
Pushing the experimental boundaries are the six snippets called “Space Junk” that sound reminiscent of “Tomorrow Never Knows” on the Beatle’s Revolver album. Ranging in length from thirty seconds to just under a minute, “Space Junk” consists of backward-sounding instrumentals that are sonic transitional elements, providing the album a solid cohesiveness.
Along with the experimental side, two songs add instruments that he hadn’t previously worked with. Janice Rieman adds a fulfilling cello to the haunting “Cahokian,” while Lou Winer’s flute plays delicately alongside Farrar’s acoustic strumming on “Out on the Road.” Still, it’s the full band sound that Farrar notes is the cohesive glue and integral sound on Terroir Blues. Among the musicians are former Son Volt pedal steel player Eric Heywood, Superchunk’s Jon Wurster on durms and St. Louis alt-county fixture John Horton on guitar and bass. Meanwhile multi-instrumentalist Mark Spencer plays piano, lap steel and slide guitar creating a comfortable vibe.
Being the head of his own record label, things are looking bright for Farrar to continue making artistically endearing records on his own terms. Although the possibility of an Uncle Tupelo or Son Volt reunion is always up in the air, for now, Farrar is concentrating on experimenting with his solo releases, and just taking things “one day at a time.”
