After more than twenty years together and only midlevel fame, the Cowboy Junkies could have easily-- and understandably-- settled into an AOR (in this case, adult-oriented roots) sound and solicited the same audience as Norah Jones and Jesse Harris. But to their considerable credit, they've never repeated themselves nor backed away from new collaborations or ideas; they've followed their own particular muse, resulting in songs that are outwardly pretty but inwardly prickly. Case in point: "Brand New World", the opening track on their eleventh album, the awkwardly titled and artworked At the End of Paths Taken. It begins with Margo Timmins singing a laundry list of mundane matters-- "Mouths to feed, shoes to buy, rent to pay...tears to dry"-- but as the song progresses, she reveals that those tears aren't her children's, but her own. "Brand New World" describes a peculiarly parental claustrophobia in which family trap rather than fulfill you-- a much darker message than expected, especially considering there are three siblings in the band-- but one that runs ominously throughout Paths Taken.
The Junkies take just as many risks musically as lyrically. "Follower 2", the album's centerpiece, begins as a slow lament, just Margo and the band playing quietly, but at the 2:30 mark, it blooms into something different, adding a cat's cradle of strings that almost sound abstract. "Mountain" exchanges those strings (the album's recurring sonic motif) for a low, anonymous male voice delivering a monologue underneath the music, adding to the muddiness of Michael Timmins' guitar and the dark edge of the lyrics.
On Paths Taken, the Junkies sound like a band battling obsolescence and trying entirely too hard to make an impression as an inventive and therefore relevant band. The album's dark tone and theme sound painted on: the parental anomie of "Brand New World", for example, never feels especially real or dramatic, and the specific details of the first verse never amount to anything concrete, but bog down in language about shadows and rivers. Likewise, all those off-putting musical elements-- the Mike Oldfield vibes on "Mountain", the choir of children on "My Only Guarantee"-- are rarely integral to the songs, but rather seem like empty gestures toward some imagined avant-garde. The Cowboy Junkies have always seemed a little distant-- in fact, their measured matter-of-factness in a genre that often prizes showy expression has been refreshing. However, that distance has turned into complacency.
These regrettable trends intersect on "My Little Basquiat", a strong candidate for their worst track ever. Against an immediately forgettable sonic backdrop, Margo wonders whether her son will grow up to be a troubled artist like Basquiat and her daughter a gymnast like Nadia Comaneci. There's a self-satisfaction to these references that's pretty excruciating, but the whispered exchanges between Margo and Michael, which turn the verses into awkward call-and-responses, truly sink the song.
On the other hand, it's telling that the best track on Paths Taken-- i.e., the only one that commits no damning musical sin-- is also the one that feels most familiar: with its basic blues structure and abrasive guitar (Michael is capable of searing guitar tones), "Cutting Board Blues" could have been lifted from Whites Off Earth Now!, their 1987 debut. It's a sharp reminder of where their strengths lie, even two decades on. It may not be glamorous, but it's certainly better than the coldly cerebral, ultimately heartless alternative.
