I’m usually fairly laid back about music, different genres, different approaches. There’s so much stuff around, if you listen all the time you can maybe get a little… well, immune, I guess, to how it can make you feel.
So let me get this out there straight away, so that my comments about Wolfe Sunday’s debut self-titled album can be taken in the spirit they are delivered:
I love this guy. I love his approach, I love his sound, and I love that he’s just doing what he loves.
There. I said it. I’ve never met him, I’ve never spoken with him on anything above email.
But there’s something about this album that pushes all the usual rules aside. It’s foot-tapping stuff that tells a story in a genuine, funny way that throws in elements of pathos, sadness, ambition, disappointment and remorse. If we were the sort of review site that gave thumbs up ratings, this one would get many…. but we’re not, so…. anyway…. we like!
Sometimes Wolfe Sunday is full band madness, sometimes it’s pared-back acoustic. Either way it’s just the thing that nestles perfectly in the ear. With songs like “I Spend More time at Service Stations Than On The Stage” and “I’m Still Not A Rockstar (But I Sure wish I Was)”, this is folk-punk with a human edge. It’s his story. And it’s inspired stuff.
Wolfe (a.k.a. Laurence Crow, which in itself isn’t a bad musician name) describes himself as if “Kimya Dawson had a baby with Beans On Toast and brought the boy up listening to Motörhead, then gave him a guitar”. I kinda get that, but there’s a lot of Billy Bragg and early Elvis Costello in the mix as well. all of which I like, and all of which I have returned to several times since it dropped into the Sound Impression inbox.