Man, it would really fucking suck to be made of peanut butter. Not just because of the simple annoyances that sort of thing would tend to cause (everybody always trying to eat you, sticking to the roof of your own mouth, etc), but because people would constantly be attempting to combine you with other things. No one digs peanut butter in and of itself, only when it's mixed with other foodstuffs-- jelly, chocolate, you name it. You would have recurring nightmares involving Elvis, a deep fryer, and a bunch of bananas. Of course, this would wreak havoc on your self-esteem: "Am I not good enough on my own? Why won't you love me for me?" you would moan nightly, weeping into your sticky, sticky pillow and cursing the day George Washington fucking Carver was born.
Catherine Irwin, I'd imagine, is in a somewhat similar situation. Her work with Janet Bean in Freakwater earned the band comparisons with every great vocal duo in country history, from Gram Parsons and Emmylou Harris on, and Freakwater's staunch refusal to acknowledge the last 30 years of that history ingratiated them with roots purists and indie kids alike. And Freakwater did have some serious, J Lo-Affleck style alchemy going on; Irwin's morose static-crackle sobs and Bean's sweeter, brassier voice were a one-in-a-billion combination. Adulation, of course, is also limitation; what could either one do for an encore? After you've nailed (crucified, even) harmony, can you ever go back to melody?
Irwin sure can. Considering the hundreds of ways a solo album can go wrong (orchestral overcompensation, rote repetition of previous band, self-conscious departure from previous band, or [ack] superstar duets and guest shots), it's shocking how right Cut Yourself a Switch sounds. While the style is no different from what Freakwater has always done, the sound shies away from the full-band approach the band had been pursuing over their last few albums. No dobros, just an occasional fiddle or accordion-- besides Irwin and her guitar, the only other constant presence here is longtime Freakwater player David Wayne Gay, whose barely-there bass adds a fullness to the sound without ever stepping on Irwin's voice. As much as Freakwater were purists, Cut Yourself a Switch represents a further distillation of what was already concentrated stuff.
Which should, by all reasoning, be too much. Irwin's pit-of-sorrow vocals were maudlin almost to the point of parody in Freakwater, balanced out by Bean's more upbeat tone. Here, though, Irwin takes the opportunity to spread out. "Hex" and "Swan Dive" showcase opposite ends of Irwin's range, from almost impossibly fragile and paper-thin on the former, to sweeping and strident on the latter. She can do seductive better than ever, too; challenge me to keep my pants on during "Power of My Love". C'mon, you could probably win some money off of me.
As per usual, Cut Yourself a Switch is about half originals and half covers. Irwin's songs stick closely to the lyrical tradition of love, death, misfortune, and Jesus, Jesus, Jesus while at the same time constantly rearranging these clichés. "Dirty Little Snowman" is a weird combination of childhood memory and debased creation myth, all wrapped up in a beautiful accordion line; "My Old Unlucky Home Far Away" is a more upbeat tune about vampires (among other things); and in "Needle in a Haystack", Irwin urges us between trusty voice cracks to "burn the damn thing down/ And you'll find your precious needle laying right there on the ground."
While all of her songs adhere to her usual standards, the covers are uniformly fascinating. The aforementioned "Power of My Love", a smoldering, weirdly aggressive Elvis tune, gets a feminist makeover from Irwin and her banjo, while she gives the Carter Family's love-from-beyond-the-grave song "Will You Miss Me" a more standard but still impassioned treatment. Irwin's rendition of "Don't We All Have the Right to Be Wrong" by Roger Miller (country Roger Miller, not Mission of Burma Roger Miller) grows slightly more damaged and desperate with every chorus. For Shockabilly's "The Only Hell My Momma Ever Raised", Irwin actually brings out a full band, and they weave blissfully through the song like a drunken getaway car in slow traffic.
The closer, though, frosts the cake. Irwin puts a perfectly scattershot slide-guitar sheen on the doo-wop standard "You Belong to Me", her breathy vocals transforming the original while making it sound agelessly older at the same time. Which is, of course, Irwin's great talent. Each song is a trip into an invented past, but after each one ends you come back up with something raw, real, and pure that you can't quite shake off. Like, if you will, dipping your fingers into a jar of peanut butter. I'd ask you to forgive my metaphors, but after Cut Yourself a Switch, I trust the Good Lord will instead.
