Tonight in New York we celebrate the release of Mike Bones' second record, A Fool For Everyone. It's been a long time coming. Bones first played these songs about 15-16 months ago and the record was completed, fully mastered and passed around starting around a year ago. It's a sober collection of breakup songs augmented by masterful arrangements and guitar playing. If you're in NYC, I highly recommend checking him out at 92Y Tribeca tonight at 9:30pm.
Today's songs are about possessions - what you have and what you have not. This idea clearly flows in multiple directions. Some, like rappers, love the material. Some, like bohemian poetic types, love cities, theories, people and scenes. Subjective conceptions of what we own (or have) really determine how we define ourselves. We've all seen people claim minimalism ("I don't have a lot of things"), but buy new clothes every week. We've all seen the opposite of that, too.
The chugging folk-punk-orchestral hybrid in this track is receiving a great reception thus far. It has a classic versatility as well. It works while grilling up cornish game hens. It works while staring out a window so hard that your cigarette burns to nothing in the ashtray. It could score throwing someone in front of a train or merely boarding one after saying goodbye to a long night. "My soul once was blessed/ But it didn't take, I guess" exemplifies a style of lyrics that could go either way, but Bones has the right affectation to pull it off with much success.
No, this is not that horrible 90s group. Who do you think I am? This song is like swagger in a bottle. It's like a western. You get one shot - the title referring to a single gun and bullet. A fully loaded .25 with one extra bullet on the side. It's like a Wendy's value meal for shooting someone. This was, of course, a problem for the Mobb Deep-alum who just began serving a 3 1/2 year sentence for weapons possession. For a man who once gained fame by threatening to stab your brain through your nose bone (Mike Tyson reference?), what do you expect?
Jansch is on the mystical side of possessions. He has no time to spend with you (probably because he's practicing his finger picking skills or swinging from branches). In seriousness, this is a chilling recording with crackling production that thankfully lets the sore edges hang out in their full glory. There are cherry trees, gold food, the morning sun and the sky above. Jansch is in that delightful shade of gray between the American south and British crybabys like Nick Drake. He holds up well.
