Bluegrass legend Del McCoury (Grand Ole Opry inductee - October 24, 2003), age 65, pipes a “high lonesome” tenor voice that has driven mountain men to cry enough tears and dance enough jigs to overflow all of the Smokey Mountains’ creek beds and splash all their tears back out. It’s Just the Night certifies that his band is top barrel and his voice still floats highest in a genre enjoying fields re-fertilized by O Brother and a greater influx of younger fans.
Mike Bub lays a rolling landscape through his upright bass for Jason Carter (fiddle), Ronnie McCoury (Del McCoury’s son - mandolin), Rob McCoury (also his son - banjo), and Del McCoury (guitar/lead vocals) to navigate; navigate they do. The banjo work and vocal harmonies on the first track, “Dry My Tears and Move on,” are enough alone to warrant getting the album and the chorus explains the paradoxical nature of bluegrass’ underpinning theme - “If you don’t want me I’ll dry my tears and move on.” Life is tough, but it should be cherished and McCoury, an elder statesman, has all of the credentials necessary to preach. Choices should be made wisely. “I’m telling you/it’s not a game/play with the fire/and you’ll live with the flame,” he howls on the equally telling, “The Fire and the Flame.”
On “Hillcrest Drive,” Ronnie’s mandolin leads the charge in pure bluegrass fashion. Also in fashion, every instrument gets a turn in the driver’s seat; none swerve. Carter and the McCoury brothers duel life into “Man Can’t Live on Bread Alone.” Their music’s almost enough to keep one going. The title track explains that everything’s not so bad; “When the moon is full/some say it’s a sign from hell/don’t you worry now/it’s just the night.” The dark, hollow bass and wind-swept fiddle offset the mandolin’s cheerful clink.
Themes of love; wanted, gained and lost, dominate bluegrass, and It’s Just the Night follows suit. Over watery banjo chatter, “Zero to Love” tells the story of a man who was saved from a broke-down truck by the woman of his dreams (he soon forgets about the truck). “Burned more oil than gas anyway/All of a sudden/I saw a car comin’/ When she said get in/I was through thumbin’.” During “My Love Will not Change,” Del promises, “there will be others yes/they won’t do like I did for you/My love will not change.” Two minutes into the song he plays off of the adage, “What’s your name? Puddintame, ask me again and I’ll tell you the same,” singing, “Ask me tomorrow and I’ll tell you the same.” The music stops. The song seems through. Six seconds later the band cranks back up. How could they do anything else in a song about a lover’s obstinate loyalty?
The musicianship may be ideal, but Del McCoury’s vocal clarity should be envied, his range should be shot for and emulated and the emotional force tumbling off of his tongue is enough to, well, make mountain men cry.
