On "Chunk of Coal", the second song on Blurry Blue Mountain, Howe Gelb sings: "I was lonesome and the wind blew bold/ I was lucky she had the eye to find the diamond in this chunk of coal." It seems to be about Gelb's romantic life, a woman he loves who loves him back, but the second half of the couplet also works as a model for Giant Sand fandom. Finding the diamond in the band's music is sometimes difficult-- for more than 25 years, Gelb has led various versions of the band on a winding path that began with ragged desert rock and has since mellowed to something that sounds like confessional singer/songwriter music.
Gelb's followers largely know what to expect by this point, but if you're new to Giant Sand and wondering where you might first try to go in their imposing catalog, there are a few things to know. First is that, more than a lot of other music that could reasonably be called rootsy, this stuff requires something of the listener. Gelb's singing voice is not tuneful and never really has been. On Blurry Blue Mountain, you can hear his command of songwriting and melodic vocabulary in the writing, but in the delivery, there's a gap. The voice never quite rises to outline that melody fully, and to some degree you have to bring your own knowledge of what he's implying to complete the picture. It's music that grows on you as you give more of yourself to it, but whereas close reference points like Calexico and American Music Club have a certain immediacy, Gelb's work doesn't.
I think it's worth working with Gelb. The music may not feel accessible right away, but what it reveals with time is rewarding. The backing on Blurry Blue Mountain, provided by a five-piece band of mostly Danish musicians assembled for the project (he's worked with each of them before), is professional and tight, with lots of muted guitar, brushed drums, and steel guitar coloring the edges. For a record recorded mostly in Denmark, it's amazing how strongly it evokes Gelb's Arizona home, specifically the Sonoran Desert. They get it at both times of day, too: "Monk's Mountain" captures the chill of the night in seven and a half minutes of ink-black, tense rock, and it's immediately followed by "Spell Bound", which is as sunny as anything Gelb's ever done. The band breaks out a little to rock harder on "Brand New Swamp Thing" and "Thin Line Man", and the twangy guitar and group vocals of "Ride the Rail" call to mind a subdued version of Johnny Cash's take on "Ghost Riders in the Sky". Just imagine that Cash sang in a raspy whisper.
That raspy whisper provides an odd counterpoint to Gelb's jazz-inflected parlor piano style on "Time Flies" and the lovely closer, "Love a Loser". The last song is perhaps the starkest demonstration of the incongruous way Gelb's writing fits his voice. The piano carries nearly all the melodic weight, but it's easy to hear the notes he's not getting to and, after a while, fill them in. It's something his fans are used to. It's an adjustment (and for some, too much of an adjustment) for everyone else. If you're willing to make the time, though, Blurry Blue Mountain will repay your attention.
