From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin- With Greg Brown’s “Walkin’ Daddy” In Mind

CD Review

Greg Brown-One Night- Greg Brown, Red House Records, 2000

…he came out of the heartlands, smack in the heart of the many-rivered heartlands, the place where America learned its rough-hewn democratic manners, learned to do without in a pitch, learned to lean, gently lean, on one’s goodfellow neighbor and return the favor, and learned to curse the world that impinged on its graces. Yah, he came of age out in those fields, corn, wheat, soy, barley, hell, even a strawberry patch, came out swinging, came out all Carl Sandburg hog butcher to the world, grain elevator to the world, mighty steel- maker to the world to sing, troubadour sing, just at that time when the earth had given up on troubadours, and their sing-song material, had given up on smoky meaningful Village cafes and smart North Beach hip hideaways, and gave that art form, that blessed angel democratic art form, ready to go under in a torrent of hubris and bad air a reprieve for a time.

And he sang, sang and wrote, and sang again of those heartland woes, sorrows, sadnesses, and joys, of coming of age, of grandma this and aunt that, and of their bounty and natural graces, of kindred Ozark hillbilly forbears heading west, of their moons and mishaps, of their rivers and wrongs, of old town life, livable town life, folded up in the night and vanished, of his father, image father, speaking of hillbillies, of walking daddy and of becoming walking daddies. Of fresh floundering love, all experimental and awkward, played out in grassy fields, along two-hearted rivers, and later in back seat cars and teenage dream lovers’ lanes, and every other spot where young love could blossom.

He cried out, cried out in pain I tell you, to see the despoliation of his land, to see the crooks and crackpots grabbing greedily for all that they did not create, to see the fading of the American, his American, sun for he could unlike others love his country if no those who governed it. Of the glue of society coming undone against the savage beast mall, the savage beast armies of destruction, the savage beast ultra-modern ways of thinking, ways of negating and mocking those simple child-learned graces. He sang too, maybe just a bit too much too, of Michigan, really UP, ur-Michigan, of fishing, damn blasted fishing, and some curled up book life as way to salve his soul. So be it.

And he sang, and let’s be candid in a non-candid world, of women, of every blessed angel devil one of them, of man’s woman woes and wonders, of sleepy and sweaty bed sheet nights, of armed truces, and unarmed truces, and flat out wars, wars that made international wars seem civilized by contrast, of modern day psych-outs and spills, of cheap hotel loves fortified by liquor, and fortified by desperate lonelinesses, of elegances and elegies, and of torrid love, and dead ashen flames of love gone off the track that no UP, no big two-hearted river, no Missouri grandma wisdom could save.

… and hence this album