Were it not for the clarity of the recording, you would be hard-pressed to guess that Chatham County Line's sophomore album, Route 23, was recorded this century, or even in the past 40 years. The album was recorded with the four members huddled around a microphone, harmonizing and plucking mandolins, banjos and guitars, and you can practically hear the dimensions of the room they're standing in. This is straight bluegrass without a hyphen or a prefix-- it has nothing to do with pastiche, a pose, or modern country music. From first note to last, it's obvious these guys have done ample homework.
There's something refreshing about listening to an album recorded by guys who aren't afraid to unironically embellish an ending with a little "yo-del-ay-hee" or write simple, straightforward ballads that tell real stories with no gimmicks. Dave Wilson's lyrics are gloriously unpretentious as he takes the role of an inmate wondering aloud whether his wife will still be there when he gets out of prison on "Arms of the Law" or inhabits a hobo searching for warmth in the winter on "Nowhere to Sleep". They pale in comparison to the stunning title track, however, which tells the story of his father's business, a service station on Route 23 whose business all but dies when the state builds a new superhighway miles away-- apparently, Wilson's own father actually ran a hardware store that suffered a similar fate. What's truly striking about the way the story unfolds, though, is the lack of bitterness as Wilson refuses to cry over spilled milk.
Of course, it helps that the music is like some sort of majestic time machine. Wilson's voice is strong but not overbearing, weaving memorable melodies into his narratives, and the playing is expert but never sterile or clichd-- on "Saro Jane" they even let the music unfold into a sort of organic soundscape with shuddering mandolin and hovering fiddle.
The two instrumentals, fiddler/mandolinist John Teer's "Gunfight in Durango" and banjoist Chandler Holt's "Sun Up", are pumping two-step throw-downs, each bursting with wild banjo, fiddle, and mandolin. The harmonies are like a little slice of back-porch heaven: "Louisiana Freight Train" has the best, rich, swaying stacks of voices topped by guest Caitlin Cary that roll around the chords like clouds over the plains.
There a few songs that don't quite have the momentum of the album's best material, but for a new band writing starkly traditional bluegrass (they only play one cover on the whole album), this is shockingly strong material, occasional hiccups aside. Obviously, if you're not into old mountain music, there's nothing on here for you, but if you enjoy bluegrass, dig in. The highlights here are as good as it gets.
