Tattletale Saints
Reviewed by: Asher Wolf
Film theorists obsess over the trajectories of quintessential Hollywood genres like the Western, Noir, or Chick-Flick. As genres mature, many argue, their defining themes and tropes become increasingly conspicuous, and filmmakers adapt in response to viewers that have caught on to their template. Now that cowboy iconography has become cliched, for example, a clever director might throw a curveball and put the black hat and eye patch on the good guy. Twist!
Incidentally, this model also applies to musical genres, such as the country tradition that Tattletale Saints have migrated to for their self-titled sophomore LP. The guitar and double-bass duo, originating from New Zealand, could be considered musical tourists through the American heartland. Their first release, How Red is the Blood, was a collection of intimate acoustic tunes that combined the contemporary indie singer-songwriter style with folk and old time vibes, a la Shakey Graves and Milk Carton Kids.
This record, however, is a full blown sonic rehaul, complete with scorching electric guitars, fat, relaxed drum beats, and the occasional wail of a yearning dobro. And it is distinctly country – self-consciously so. Guitarist Cy Winstanley and his anchor Vanessa McGowan have long resided in, of course, Nashville, and it’s clear that they have thoroughly marinated in the technique and spirit of the tradition; despite its stylistic intentionality, Tattletale Saints feels neither contrived nor pretentious – more of an homage to country-blues than an appropriation.
Like the aforementioned Western film directors, the band is clever about its use of genre tropes. The opening number, “Big City Woman”, is a tongue-and-cheek satire of the rural stigma against upper-class women, and the following track “Sonoma County Wine” presents an equally humorous dialogue between the two singers, who craft a date and a quickie around “a bag of weed, a fifth of whiskey, and a bottle of Sonoma county wine” (a California-meets-Tennessee cocktail).
A Beatles-esque, double-tracked electric blues solo rips forth from the spacious, grumbling beat, reinforcing the sunny atmosphere present throughout much of the album. Other than the occasional lyrical bombshell, the songwriting is not the album’s main draw. Each tune is succulent and lyrically strong, but there are few musical risks, other than the colorful harmonic progressions gracing the morose ballads “If I Had A Dollar” and “A Scarf of Light” (indicative of the musicians’ background in jazz). Fortunately, the record boasts pristine production, elegant arrangements, and passionate musicianship. Tattletale Saints reveals that an external, intentional approach to a genre can yield genuine and refreshing material.
Rating: Bad-Ass
