King Wilkie are young vets of the bluegrass circuit, proud purveyors of a tradition that until relatively recently was primarily the province of hippies, NPR listeners, and Civil War reenactors. But the Charlottesville, Va., band isn't strictly a bluegrass outfit. At least not anymore. You could belatedly credit the success of Alison Krauss or O Brother, Where Art Thou? or generally cite long-simmering trends, but the gates have been opened and an entire legion of bluegrass bands have emerged squinting into the light, blinded not just by the wide array of music out there but the number of acts who have enlisted the traits of bluegrass to serve their various purposes, not least some modicum of commercial gain.
Yet only a myopic bluegrass shut-in would consider King Wilkie's second disc Low Country Suite any sort of radical statement. There's not a single note, tone, or sentiment here that you haven't heard a hundred times before. There's nothing particularly "new" to the group's blend of folk, bluegrass, blues, and country that you haven't encountered. It's comfort music to the core, not meant to stir so much as soothe in its familiarity.
These truths in and of themselves don't necessarily peg the disc as safe, though, especially in a day and age when it's probably easier (and certainly more fashionable) to shake things up a bit and revel in post-modern play-acting or appropriation. That Low Country Suite does none of this, and indeed aims for earnest authenticity, constitutes a great deal of its welcome charm. If some read that charm as tedium, well, then so be it. Put yourself in the mindset of one of those bluegrass shut-ins, however, and you can better appreciate what King Wilkie are trying to do with and within one of the most conservative musical forms.
For starters, the tempos are slower, more subdued and resigned, a respite from the flashy, oft frantic picking of bluegrass. Beyond that, the band's more or less standard bluegrass instrumentation-- guitar, violin, banjo, upright bass, mandolin, etc.-- is enlisted in service of a stylistic palette a tad broader and more subtle than the usual bluegrass suspects, too. "The Raising of the Patriarchs" is hushed, pure, molasses-slow melancholia, replete with spare organ and wistful piano plinks. "Millie's Song", like a few other tracks, is just a backbeat away from a 1970s country-rock song. Elsewhere the album nods to such hybrid predecessors as the Band ("Angeline", "Crazy Daisy") and Lyle Lovett ("Ms. Peabody").
Singers John McDonald and Reid Burgess swap lead duties and, when they sing together, stick to close harmonies. But neither is a vocal showoff. In fact, their relatively modest voices help keep the disc honest, along with simple, melodic playing that leaves little room for soloing.
All the same, what's missing from the music is any sort of grit. The almost crystalline clarity of Low Country Suite is something to relish on a good stereo, but Jim Scott's production nonetheless comes off a little sterile. It's a bit like a window polished so clear the glass may as well not be there. Had King Wilkie instead kept some of the dirt, dust, and grime on there, their incessantly downbeat dusk-music may indeed have come off as radical as intended, straddling generations instead of sticking comfortably to the sound of the here and now.
