Prolific artists scare the hell out of me. How is it they crank out so much, so often? I envision the writer huddled over a typewriter, the painter peering into the canvas, the musician stroking a guitar-- all into the wee hours of the morning, skin sweaty and pale from lack of sleep and sunlight. Their only company is a bottle of whiskey and maybe a lazy dog. I think pain. I think isolation.
But what's even worse is when the prolific artist makes it look easy. John Updike, for instance, spits out novels like hockey players spit out teeth, and without even a trace of pain. The same goes for Georgia native Jack Logan, who has averaged about an album a year since he burst onto the scene in 1994 with his aptly titled two-disc debut, Bulk, which contained no less than 42 songs. Even worse: that collection was whittled down from around 600 tracks demoed over the previous decade.
So, yes, Jack Logan likes to write a lot of country- and blues-inspired rock'n'roll songs. Whether he does so with ease remains unknown, but he sure sounds relaxed most of the time, even when cranking up the electric guitar a little bit. Perhaps recognizing that this combination-- being prolific with apparent ease-- could be a pitfall of mediocrity, Logan mixes it up as best he can. In this case, he has enlisted friend Bob Kimbell of pop band Weird Summer.
The two have hooked up before, for 1998's Little Private Angel. That record was spotty, but there were enough bright spots to suggest a second Logan/Kimbell album might be in order, all the kinks presumably having been worked out in their first effort together. And so it happens, that's largely the case with Woodshedding, a collaboration that doesn't at all sound like a collaboration-- almost always a good sign.
"Further South" gets the leisurely beat rolling, with just enough harmonica, pedal steel and tambourine to ease the listener into the mood of the fall season (notice the leaves on the cover). Logan and Kimbell are attributed as co-writers for the entire album and, somewhat surprisingly, it's not always clear who's responsible for which tracks. Nonetheless, kudos to whoever wrote, "This river meets an ocean further south/ With New Orleans on the corner of its mouth/ The sin runs down from the people in the towns/ And runs to the ocean further south."
Kimball is likely responsible for the light pop of "Host of the Party", with its peppy drumbeat, saxophones and subtle keyboards. But I'll have to blame him for "I Still Miss Her Dog", a knee-slapping, tongue-in-cheek ode to (obviously) an ex-girlfriend's dog. Logan's fingerprints, meanwhile, are all over the somewhat bland rock of "Legs and Brains", which recalls the lesser moments of his major label debut, 1999's Buzz Me In. He then delivers, however, on the stellar rock number "Ripped It Away" and the more brooding reflections of "Nothing but the Sky" and "Just as You Are", which highlight his two strengths: a smooth, sturdy voice and thoughtful lyrics.
I can't blame Logan for being prolific. It's just the way he is (and at least he doesn't flaunt it like Ryan Adams does). That said, Logan does suffer a little from the sameness that plagues Updike, which perhaps explains why they're both able to produce at such a rate-- with each new book and album, they never stray too far from their artistic home. And this is why Woodshedding is, if nothing else, a welcome effort. With the help of a friend, Logan sheds some of that sameness without seeming desperate for change.
