The first vocals on Favorite Waitress aren’t from any of the brothers themselves, but from their dog barking in the background. The shambling, acoustic opener “Bird on Broken Wing” (which is dedicated to the memory of Pete Seeger) is filled with background noise, the bustle of busy bodies barking or conversing or just bumping into things. It’s the kind of ambient noise that might ruin a take by another band or at least get edited out before the song makes its way onto an album. With the Felice Brothers, however, that dog bark conveys a sense of informality, reminding you that the band recorded live and casually, with no regard for polish or perfection. That’s how rock and roll is supposed to be played, right?
But it’s even more crucial to Favorite Waitress, which marks the first time the Felices have recorded in a proper studio rather than high schools or chicken coops. For Favorite Waitress, the group piled in a van and drove from their home in Woodstock, New York all the way out to Omaha, Nebraska, workshopping these new tunes along the way. They recorded in Mike Mogis’ Arc Studio, with long-time producer Jeremy Backofen at the helm. Lest you think they’ve cleaned up their sound or abandoned their rowdy and rustic ethos: woof.
On the other hand, it’s almost too perfect and planned, as though they set the dog up in his own little booth to get that short exclamation. While the Felices project a world-weary and ramshackle aesthetic, their music is actually very deliberate and calculated. They’re one of surprisingly few acts that can hold a stage with a string band like Old Crow Medicine Show, or with a rock band like Dawes or Deer Tick. Vocalist Ian Felice peppers his lyrics with proper nouns, and to his credit he mixes the old (Henry James) with the new (Harry Potter), as if to suggest the new America is just as weird as the old America. On the other hand, he can barely get away with a line like “I’ll be Butch Cassidy and you can be the Sundance Kid,” from “Meadow of a Dream”. That song just falls apart, thanks to asinine wordplay like, “I ain’t the Boss, but I’m his illegitimate son, ‘cause baby, I was born to run.” That’s worse than anything off High Hopes.
Especially after the garish electronic elements and dancehall atmosphere on Celebration, Florida, the Felices play it a bit safer on Favorite Waitress, once again displaying a broad palette—a bit of zydeco here, some piano balladry there, and Band references everywhere else. As a unit, they’re nimble and assured, emphasizing fluid transitions and brazen contrasts between styles. The result is a heady roots rock that flaunts its unpredictability and doggedly strives against convention. On the other hand, for all their Boss and King allusions (“I’m the new Elvis, covered in my enemies’ blood!”), the Felices understand “rock” as a noun, not a verb. These songs lumber and splay, all gangly melodies and world-weary croaks. Even “Woman Next Door”, the fastest and heaviest number here, trips over its own feet as it tries to locate the groove.
Too often Favorite Waitress sounds too too clever to accommodate something as visceral as a groove. Only on “Cherry Licorice”, with its spoken introduction and its AABB rhyme scheme, does the band come alive and craft something unself-consciously affecting. The lyrics are goofy and slapdash, as though written seconds before they were sung, and the band backs Ian like they’re drunk and trying to remember how “I Want Candy” goes. “All I want to eat is cherry licorice,” he slurs. “I don’t care if it sounds ridiculous.” That’s precisely how it sounds, which makes it the most joyful and unguarded song on the album.
