Rock criticism abhors a singer-songwriter. Unvarnished chords 'n' lyrics are like tax code to describe, and worse to read about. Disco-punk was interesting no matter how weak a given Radio 4 song might be, and anything psychedelic lends itself to late-night prose ego trippin' fueled by THC and past-date ephedra. Even recent Pitchfork singer-songwriting heroes boast an extra something: Iron & Wine's antebellum intimacy, M. Ward's California surrealism, freak-folk's freak-folk.
Then there's Josh Ritter, who sings and writes songs with ultra-trad folk-rock arrangements and eschews the band-like stage names of hipster convention. Rooted in the Americana of Woody Guthrie and Townes Van Zandt, Ritter's songs stand naked, conjuring the landscape and musical vernacular of his native Northwest. Hello Starling is the Idaho troubadour's third album-- first for a non-folk label-- and it's past time Ritter received the treatment daily papers currently lavish on another flyover-state kid with a recently released record (or two).
Yawn, right? OK, the songs: "You Don't Make It Easy Babe" makes Dylan comparisons easy babe with sprightly finger-picking, creaky railroad-over-a-Rocky-Mountain-pass vocals, wounded-lover wordplay, use of the word "babe." Full-band "Snow Is Gone" rejoices like Dylan's unjustly maligned New Morning, sharing its spring gospel even with the Hitchcockian starlings that shat on sidewalks all winter. "Wings" sets a panoramic narrative over soft arpeggios: "I stole a mule from Anthony-- I helped Anne up upon it/ And we rode to Coeur d'Alene-- through Harrison and Wallace/ They were blasting out the tunnels-- making way for the light of learning/ When Jesus comes a'calling, she said, he's coming round the mountain on a train."
Ritter's prowess extends to rollicking rock 'n' roll self-immolation fables ("Man Burning"), heartland Nick Drake ("Bright Smile"), and whirling Wurlitzer valentines ("Kathleen"). Sure, I'd prefer organ tones less reminiscent of Dylan's son's band and more sonic experimentation-- the gentle late-period Yo La Tengo sprawl of "Baby That's Not All" is a good start-- but as a storyteller, Ritter is matched only by his lofty influences.
For all that, Starling doesn't even include Ritter's best compositions, which can be found on Golden Age of Radio. That record's title track, usually a country-rock barnstormer, recurs as a ballad on the Starling reissue's four-song live bonus disc. There's still time to unearth earlier gems like "Harrisburg" and "Me & Jiggs"; it took critical opinion years to coalesce behind Leonard Cohen and Tom Waits, too. Ritter again: "Inside this gilded cage, a songbird always looks so plain."
