On "The Ruby Ring Man", from Page France's 2007 album …And the Family Telephone, Michael Nau asserted that he "would kiss the devil's cheek/ To get this halo off of me," a bit of self-prophesying in retrospect. The song was a pastiche of New Morning-era Bob Dylan, and Nau used it to flip Dylan's own c. 1970 script, shedding himself of the Christian folkie character he'd been playing since 2004. Nau's cardigan-wearing teenage boy contingent weren't exactly the type to yell "Judas!" on their blogs, but that didn't stop Nau from shutting down Page France's precious passion play with Telephone. He'd been recording on the side as the Cotton Jones Basket Ride, and Paranoid Cocoon marks the emergence-- minus the "Basket Ride"-- of Nau's latest iteration of 60s psychedelia.
Cotton Jones is Nau's vehicle, but Whitney McGraw's presence is just as strong. Together, their harmonies and trade-offs, immersed in a languid surround of smoky organs, Opry earnestness, and an abundance of steel guitar, suggest a place on the spectrum for the duo somewhere between late-60s Johnny/June and Ira/Georgia c. And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside-Out. Appropriately then, McGraw is a steadying presence on Cocoon, as Nau's muse predictably wanders around the constraints he's set for himself this time. On opening track "Up A Tree (Went This Heart I Have)", he drops low into Jim Morrison range, and the bluesy cadence of the song follows suit. Two tracks later, though he doesn't show up until well over two minutes into the song, he morphs the pleasant shuffle established by "Some Strange Rain" into what feels like a minor My Morning Jacket cut.
Indeed, Cocoon's pleasantness and low stakes are its most recommendable traits. You know after the first 10 seconds of the record what you're in for, and while your mind's never blown, it's also never let down. "Gone the Bells" is indicative of the album as a whole: a narcotic stroll through a dimly sunlit park with no particular reason for anything that happens, save the faintest hints of romance and regret. As an aesthetic, it's comparable to an out-of-focus photo in an old shoebox, or the early morning sunrise viewed through a dew-covered windshield.
But who knows how long it'll last? The album ends with "I Am the Changer", where Nau reminds us that he's "always a stranger, and a liar." It's an obvious statement, of course, for those who've followed Page France until now, not to mention one that's bit bold on a record that works so well at the level of suggestion. It also probably means that we'll be getting something new from Nau the next time around. Switching between musical characters is obviously Nau's default setting, and for all of its pleasantness, Paranoid Cocoon, in the context of his career thus far, feels like transition music over a costume change.
