In Simone Felice’s open letter to The Felice Brothers fans regarding his hiatus from touring with the band, his heartfelt and entirely candid explanation of his emotionally trying winter is tough to swallow without getting choked up. Losing his young baby this winter forced him into the safe-haven of his homeland roots in the Catskills, and even the most emotionally shallow can still identify with the highs and lows of our human experience. Long known as arch benefactors to music and fan-friendly, The Felice Brothers scored a big hit earlier this year with Yonder is the Clock, and Simone describes this newest side project as “the soundtrack of a long and fateful Winter.” One of the amazing things about pain is that the purging of it is oftentimes best manifested through art. As Simone Felice (along with long-time pal and George Clinton sit-in performer, Robert Burke) healed deeply grooved wounds, the necessary reflection created an absolute gentle-gem of a record here. His loss becomes our gain while he also gains through the creative healing process. It’s a deeply personal album, obviously, but not one without plenty of stylistic beauty and elegance.
Nature’s first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay
Robert Frost’s brief and canonical, Nothing Gold Can Stay covers a ton of ground in four short couplets, and its theme is crucial to understanding the lyrical tilt of the record. Our experiences in life are varied but our youthful vigor and awe are gilded and lush with moments of huge importance. The colors of our most pleasurable memories fade as time erodes them and quite often the shiny packaging of our early experience becomes dull in the valleys and peaks of our travels. Frost’s poem is outwardly depressing, to be honest. As such, however, Frost isn’t necessarily looking at things bleakly. Movement and change is inevitable. Nothing Gold Can Stay. Part of the brilliance of this poem is that Frost isn’t saying that this completely sucks; it’s a natural phenomenon. He doesn’t offer options to reverse the natural process but strangely the poem always seems to reinforce the idea of sitting on an even plane and understanding that our memories of positive moments are immovable but pain and transition will always be a part of the deal. It’s important to understand this, because while The Duke and the King’s album is not overtly complex, it is the power behind its creation that fills its cup. Likewise, the album serves as Felice’s realization that his pain is also his learning. In beautiful pop-folk, he regrets, laments, and inevitably heals before our ears. Like Frost, he doesn’t explicitly express this. For brevity’s sake, Felice knows that his gold memories cannot stay, but they can a little if he commits them to art.
The reasoning behind the album’s title is abundantly clear in the lyrical steerage of the tracks. Felice weaves listeners through times gone-by, particularly in the opener, “If You Ever Get Famous” and the epic “Union Street.” Both songs are about regret and thinking back to when things were brighter. Stay close to home and remember the unhinged joy of youth. The former is a simple three chord progression with a tired steel guitar traveling through it. “If you ever get famous, I’ll say a prayer for your heart…beware of sharks. ‘Cause they come out in the dark.” Aptly, Felice begins as if he’s reaching out to someone, hoping they don’t leave. He’s aware that they may, but he’s resigned to stay right where he is. “Union Street” is a huge song, where the narrator wants to get back to that teenage bliss of carefree living and nostalgia. Listless background vocal fills, cool 50′s retro ballad guitar work, and big pounding drums will not only send you to the repeat button, but will strike up emotional weight. We’ve all got our own Union Street, where our memories were birthed and time seemed to stand still. Each track of the album is deeply personal, covering sex, love, drugs, loss, regret and all of the richness human experience affords, postive or negative. The record closes on one of my favorite tracks of 2009, “One More American Song,” where gently spliced beautiful folk is paired with cerebral and metaphorical lyric writing. “John the king of bottle-tops. Priest or pawn. His war’s still on. It’s just one more American song.” He regrets his mistakes, his lies to his loved ones, and this entire cathartic song is about making peace with himself. Boomboxes, cherry trees, singalongs, and a cataloging of uniquely American imagery just soars this album out in complete beauty.
Musically, there is richness as well, and while the emotional underpinnings are the most crucial for listeners to chew on, a unique diversity is present, complete with recording flaws that make it all the more endearing. My expectations for the album were probably tied to The Felice Brothers and their sometimes raucous boot-pounding folk-rock. This is not that album, and not even in the slightest. The immediate reaction is eyebrow raising because Simone Felice and Robert Duke make beautiful music together. “Lose My Self” is a hugely psychedelic track that could fit nicely on any latter Pink Floyd record. It starts with a ripping, creaky fuzz and dark electronic piano arrangement. Transistor radio blips in the background, big looping electric guitar fills, soaring harmonies, and bluesy background vocals nod big time to Felice and Duke’s musical adaptability. At times, the duo keeps things simple, allowing the vocals to stand front and center in tracks like “Summer Morning Rain,” and “Suzanne” where the narrator just wants to bag that hot girl one more time. Gritty rhythm guitar slides and higher pitched chops make this a song I’d expect from Felice, and that’s certainly not a negative hinging point at all. Tracks are beautiful and flawed throughout. Recording fuzz and numerous other blemishes pop out of the speakers, but the effect is certainly a boon to the album. The process of leaving his band behind and recording in his home territory makes it entirely fitting. At no point does the album become monotonous or one dimensional. They aren’t building a spaceship, but the unique and lively takes on pop-folk maintain intrigue from one to ten.
There are ten tracks on the album, and each has immense playback value. There’s a gentle ease to the delivery, and the drenching emotional details of the lyricism gives this plenty of hefty weight. We were fans of Yonder is the Clock earlier this year, and while this is nowhere near the same sound, it’s gripping me on levels YITC could not possibly achieve. Four or five of these tracks can be hugely important to anyone experiencing loss or tough times. Felice’s demons and pain are fully grappled with by the album’s close. As an introspective look into one man’s history, this is an all out gem.
one of the best reviews of an album I’ve read in a long time. I read the whole thing and that’s rare for me. nice job, great record.
Ryan-
That means a lot to me (and us). We’re glad you liked the review. That “One More American Song” is killer. Had to say a few words. We sometimes don’t make it through our wordy reviews either lol.
Cheers!