Freedy Johnston
Right Between the Promises
(Electra/Asylum)
Freedy Johnston has to be the unlikeliest
of rock stars, if he can even be called such a thing. A balding, middle-aged singer-songwriter
from Kansas who literally sold his farm to move to New York and start a rock band, Johnston has
made a living telling stories even more remarkable than his own. His expert ability to convey
sorrowful tales of the alienated Everyman, while avoiding the cliches so many of his
contemporaries stumble upon, is rivaled only by his melodic instincts. Johnston's last record, Blue Days, Black Nights, took a sharp departure from his pop
sensibilities and found him in the gloomiest of soundscapes. The album was so dark, it prompted
the question that Nigel Tuffnel of Spinal Tap once posed so eloquently: "How much more black can
it be? And the answer is none. None more black." On Right Between The Promises, our
prodigal singer/songwriter returns to a foundation built on luscious guitar and pop melody.
There are still a couple of darker tracks, but for the most part, Freedy seems to have stumbled
upon happier times. His stripped down and clumsy "Radio for Heartache" is a refreshing standout
that juxtaposes an endearing play-it-by-ear mentality against an artist stylistically known for
his craftsmanship. The result, of both the song and the album, is quite successful. Johnston has
a couple missteps to speak of here, namely "Back to My Machine" and "In My Dream." But he is
quick to atone for them with pop gems such as "Anyone" and the travelling anthem of "Arriving
on a Train" on which he appropriately opines: "I never got it right until I gave up trying."
Freedy Johnston may never be a rock star in the literal sense, but his contributions over the
years make him more than deserving of our collective attention. Rating: 7
Tom Scharpf
Blue Days Black Nights
(Electra)
Eight years ago, the young man sold the dirt to feed the band. And he and the band and the
money from the dirt knocked out one of the great rock and roll albums of the decade. But time
passed and he discovered the band made quite a racket, what with their noisy amplifiers and bass
drums and all. They certainly didn't appreciate the delicate beauty and hard-won maturity of his
lyrics. So he sent them packing. Now, just a decade into his career, he doesn't have the dirt
and he doesn't have the band. Just his beloved lyrics. And a new album so mannered, so somber
and so brittle it makes Gordon Lightfoot sound like Gene Vincent.
Rating: 5
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