Ryan Bingham
Mescalito
Lost Highway
By J. Poet
With his band The Dead Horses, Ryan Bingham has been building a cult following from Austin (that's in Texas, son,) to Hollywood, where he's played a number of private parties for stars his press kit says you know well. Bingham sings like a thousand year old chain smoking alcoholic, with a raspy Texas drawl that gives his hard luck tales the ring of authenticity. And in case you're wondering, the boy has lived many of the hard times he sings about. He left home in his early teens, living both with members of his extended family and on the street. He discovered music early on, made his first album at 17, then went on to become a rodeo bull rider, ranch hand, and unlikely enoguh a college graduate.
The buzz created by his indie albums brought him to the attention of Lost Highway. The label paired him with ex-Black Crowes guitarist Marc Ford, who produced his major label debut with a light hand. Bingham’s weary croak is perfectly suited to these mid-tempo laments, and the understated arrangements keep the focus where it belongs: on his voice and straightforward lyrics. “Long Way to Georgia” is a homesick ballad full of hopeless poetry and despondent slide guitar, while “Southside of Heaven” is accented by a lonesome harmonica, weeping mandolin and some of the album’s most desolate lyrics delivered simply by Bingham’s broken tenor. “Boracho Station” is a Mexican flavored tune with a lilting melody and smoky acoustic guitar work and “Ever Wonder Why,” a growling self-destructive blues with an angry edge, finds the singer detailing all the things he wished he hadn’t done without making any apologies for the hard times he’s probably brought on himself. There’s also a hidden track, “The Best of Me,” titled with deadly irony. It sounds like it was recorded live in a train yard, just guitar and voice, and shows off Bingham’s picking expertise and the stark beauty of his dark visions.
On the up tempo side you’ve got the slide guitar driven stomp of “Bread & Water,” a celebration of debauchery and loose women; “Dollar a Day” is a short sardonic burst that suggests the best way out of a dead end job might be to plant a few marijuana bushes, and “Take It Easy Mama,” a seductive rocker with a druggy bridge guaranteed to bring a sly smile to your face.
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