Our favorite exponents of Country and Western music these days are artists who don't even register on the musical Richter Scale that they got over there at The Grand Ol' Opry. Country music is simply the hook that artists such as Jim White, Clem Snide, and this band, Beachwood Sparks hang their Stetsons on before gussying it up with some of those various forms of pop music which have evolved over the years. Beachwood Sparks take country `themes' (as in `melodies'), country `themes' (as in `topics'), and country instruments (as in pedal steel, harmonica, and banjo) and mix them with a healthy dose of psychedelia, amongst other things, and emerge with a hauntingly weird and lovely conglomeration which we will not herein give a name but to which we will certainly give our attention.

This was recommended to me by a store clerk who had a decent knowledge of Uncle Tupelo and it's successor bands. I don't know what the significance (if any) of the name Beachwood Sparks is, but they should think about changing their name to Birkenstock Cowboys, or maybe Rodeo Tree Huggers. The music sounded pretentious and overemotive, completely sans-hook, and the philosophy evident in the lyrics essentially oversimplified transcendentalism. Think Thoreau on his most overbearing days, wandering around Walden on an acid trip, losing focus and taking it out on a guitar.

I won't be back for more.

I played this album through three times the first day I had it, and I was was still hungry for more! It's not about their influences (which they admittedly wear on their sleeves) and it's not about "cutting edge lo-fi indy alt-psych-country-pop", it's about the SONGS folks, the incredible SONGS. These boys can write a damn fine one, and in an album this long and this complex I can only find one song that is somewhat less than excellent (Yer Selfish Ways, which comes off as well-intentioned filler.) That one track not-withstanding, I believe this is an album of timeless classics that will stand as a testament to the life left in the music scene we are all currently let down by. The arrangelemts are wonderful, the sound is intentionally murky and processed by all manner of vintage effects (love the tape echo on the drums), but the overall impression is that this would have stood up against all the classics of the era they are so inspired by. Every time this cd gerts in my player it stays there for days. My hats off to these guys for releasing a captivating, incredible set of songs.

Why, oh why, do I always end up buying albums on a whim after reading great press reviews that pique my interest and then turn out playing the thing three times before hurling it out the window of my truck? Probably because I'm a gullible consumer, easily swayed by the words "Gram", "twang", "psychedelic" and "earthy" when grouped simultaneously and tossed around in record reviews like guitar picks at a Queensryche concert. Beachwood Sparks may be nice guys, and their record collections may be pretty cool, but they don't stand a chance of making me feel good. Their slide-guitar (or whatever that overly-reverbed annoying droney sound is) sounds, after about four songs, like the aural equivalent of a whistling teapot: someone turn that thing off, willya? Jeez.

And their songwriting, oh good gracious almighty. They instantly violate Indie Rock Rule #4 from the Elephant 6 Guide to Musical Vapidity: "Never put your best song first on the CD, because it usually follows that the rest will be gradually worse until the entire thing ends up in a black hole of obligatory noise jams and woefully casual attempts at folk-rock-art." Like about eight million bands since 1993, they flog derivative song structures until they sound tired (the band, not the song), and as the tunes progress on "Once We Were Trees", I swear they get SLOWER. Not from song to song, but really, WITHIN EACH SONG, the tempo slows from start to finish. I am currently employing a scientific, mathematical formula to calculate this, and when I'm done, I'm gonna send it to Sub Pop for them to forward to Beachwood Sparks at their rustic Humboldt County estate or wherever they have barricaded themselves with fancy retro rodeo-wear and dusty turntables adorned with vintage country albums. How quaint.

Wake up, America: put down the hype, and take out that little round shiny thing and put it on and LISTEN TO IT.

This is a great disc...one to listen to by the fire, or outside camping in a sleeping bag with a loved one. All of the elements are there: lots of reverb, twang, feedback guitars, banjos, harmonica, cymbals, acoustic numbers, waltzes. References? Geez, check out other reviews for that! How about the Byrds, Gram Parsons, Neil Young, Buck Owens? But a little heavier on the reverb and feedback than Gram. Some heartfelt lyrics for lovers included, such as believing in the other, sticking together & working things out thru thick and thin, unconditional love, touching stuff like that. Wow, great words and great music....better than the first disc? Check it out!