
Rating: Yes
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Joe Henry Fuse
Mammoth
Moody and poetic and always in love, North
Carolina-native Joe Henry is rarely understated or ignored in this dreamy, steamy AOR
classic. Produced by Daniel Lanois and T-bone Burnett, two old hats at creating AOR albums
that can be played on the soft-rock stations and still sound cool. Fans of Lanois' past
productions, which include work with Bob Dylan, Robby Robertson and U2, as well as his own
remarkable work, will immediately recognize his fingerprints all over the knobs, creating
his trademark shimmering, cloudy, echo-filled and altogether bog-like sound. Henry has
been around since the beginning of the decade, originally pegged as some sort of
country-folk country-rock guy, complete with John Hiatt twang. There's none of that here.
In fact, at times Fuse is dominated by funky, trip-hop rhythms (Fat, Angels,
Curt Flood), that take it about as far away from C&W as you can go in
this genre. If anyone else were singing it, there'd be no comparison, but Henry's most
obvious characteristic is his nasal, Dylanesque voice, which sounds more Jakob than Bob to
me. Like some of the best tracks off Robertson's Storyville, every
track seems slightly overshadowed with a piece of remorse, regret or bad memory. You
feel his pain or confusion when it's over. The title track opens like a Roxy Music
underwater love song, with Henry singing "There go your knees/And there she
goes/She's haulin' Cane/Like it was gold." I'm not sure what it means but it
sure sounds nice. The lyrics are poetic and lose me most of the time, but you won't notice
because you'll be lost in the dense sound. Nothing so far this year has had the
beauty of "Beautiful Hat," Backed by a mournful-sounding Dirty Dozen brass band,
Henry sings "When I was beginning to learn how to climb/Thinking myself could be
doing just fine/Reaching your knees when just finding mine/Reaching your knees while
living on mine," followed by one of the most beautiful brass lines I've heard in a
long, long time. It'll leave a lump in your throat, like the rest of this lovely CD.
-- Tim McMahan
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Printed in The Reader April 22, 1999.
Copyright © 1999 Tim McMahan. All rights reserved.
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