“Jukebox of Steel:” Revisiting Son Volt
I think I’ve taken for granted what exactly can snap one out of a musical malaise. I suppose it’s different for every one of us, sure, but I guess I’ve been expecting since, oh, late 2020 to listen to a new record or single and be just blown away and remember why I’ve loved writing about music so much. It just hasn’t happened as such.
Now, that’s not to say music has been just background noise for me lately. Kip Moore put on the best show I’ve seen from him a few months back at Stage AE (and that’s an incredibly high bar to achieve given his phenomenal track record of live performances). Chris Janson’s “You, Me & The River” with Eric Church reminded me of vintage Church and is already my most-played song of 2022. I’m stoked to find out when Bruce Springsteen releases American tour dates for 2023. Music, as it always will be, is still there.
But from a more critical perspective- I just haven’t been blown away by anything *new.* And you know what? That’s okay. I’ve come to terms with that. No need to seek out what will find me naturally. I came to that realization lately after again spending a lot of time with Son Volt, the legendary alternative country band fronted by Jay Farrar. Farrar, as most people who are reading this probably already know, was a co-founder of Uncle Tupelo-the band who essentially invented the alternative country genre-with Jeff Tweedy.
Long-time readers or followers on social media are well-aware of how I highly regard Farrar’s songwriting (if you’re interested in knowing more about the alternative country genre or Son Volt, check out the archive. I’ve written about it a ton). He’s up there with Springsteen and Townes and Hank. Farrar is the best of the best.
Over the past few weeks though, I’ve been playing Son Volt a ton. More than usual. Revisiting old tracks and warm favorites. Deeper album cuts and material from the band’s magnificent 2021 release- Electro Melodier. I just wanted to take a few moments to opine on the significance of spending time with a band that will never get old.
I don’t really have an answer for what started the Son Volt kick. It’s not like I’ve gone years or even months without listening to them. Something just kept me listening over and over…and over again the past few weeks. I do remember the song that I revisited first- “Reverie” off their latest album Electro Melodier. “Reverie” is a hopeful tune; it’s well-suited for slowly trying to get back into a post-pandemic world, if not explicitly about the topic. The first lines just beg to be shouted: “When you fade into a melody/your mind is lost in reverie. You can feel the earth and touch the sky/don’t mind the shade when there’s inner light.” As far as Farrar’s songwriting goes, it’s about as straight-forward as one can get. And a wonderful turn of pace coupled with the classic Son Volt sound. When he wants, Jay Farrar can write catchy hooks just like Jeff Tweedy, don’t let anyone tell you different. Farrar just chose a different path, and that’s why I’ll always be Team Jay. But “Reverie” stands out for it’s uniqueness in the Son Volt catalog.
Last Sunday during the Pirates game, I chose to spend some time with Son Volt’s underrated 2009 album American Central Dust. After listening to the record in its entirety, I probably replayed “Jukebox of Steel” ten more times that day.
“Antiheroes to follow too, bar and string salvation/Throw the calendar away, gonna find a jukebox of steel,” Farrar sings. “A still life with a bottle, a newspaper and a glass…” It’s a heavy song to conclude an album full of hard-bitten narration with a working-class touch.
American Central Dust is reminiscent of Springsteen’s Darkness On the Edge of Town. Or, as Niles Crane in Frasier once put it when describing an entirely unrelated topic, “Vintage Steinbeck.”
I think one thing that’s always stood out to be about Jay Farrar’s writing is where he puts himself into the story. He’s a poet- but more unattached than others I’d compare his stories too like a Ryan Bingham or Guy Clark. Whereas Bingham and Clark expertly place themselves in the scene, Farrar consistently is able to observe and theorize about the American condition from a more philosophical and unbiased perspective. Indeed, Farrar’s songwriting is highly intellectual and historic-based.
I, of course, would be remiss to not mention one of my all-time favorite Son Volt songs and one that defines the genre of alternative country. “Drown” features a line I’m still convinced is a direct shot at the breakup of Uncle Tupelo. Farrar sings, “When in doubt, move on, no need to sort it out…” But beyond that line, “Drown” is full of crunchy guitar and a classic riff that’s instantly memorable.
“Drown,” off Son Volt’s debut record Trace-the greatest alternative country album to ever be recorded-gives us everything we expect from a 90s alternative country song. It’s a rocker and the only song Son Volt recorded to land on any Billboard charts.
I’ve tried to analyze some of Farrar’s lyrics before, and though we all can come to our own conclusion what Farrar’s words and lyrics may mean, the truth is, Jay Farrar wastes no word and has an intention for every line- whether it’s an obscure historical reference or clever turn of phrase. Only Farrar knows exactly what he means to say.
I think that’s why I’ve been so neck-deep in Son Volt’s music over the past few weeks. There are simply no other songwriters like Farrar, and I’ve been enjoying that comfort of not exactly knowing what some of Farrar’s words are specifically referencing. In a music culture that emphasizes stating the obvious with some of Americana’s biggest new stars using over-flowery and poetic words set to an acoustic background, Son Volt stands as a stoic reminder that it’s okay for your alternative country to still use electric and slide, rock, and still hit you in the head with the lyrics.
Uncle Tupelo was, so many years ago and just like for so many others, my introduction to alternative country music. No Depression enjoys the legacy it does for a reason. The blend of punk and country was unlike anything else the music world had seen or still has yet to see again. Jay Farrar used Son Volt to masterfully continue the legacy of Uncle Tupelo. Some prefer Tweedy’s experimentation with Wilco that sounds nothing like his time with Uncle Tupelo. Me? I’ll keep rockin’ with the Midwestern twang of Farrar and Son Volt.
One of the coolest feelings as a music fan is the warmth that comes from spending serious time with one’s favorites. Sometimes singing along at the top of your lungs. Other times sitting back with a beer or coffee and taking in the lyrical genius. I’ve done that a lot with Son Volt over the past few weeks. I feel musically refreshed. I feel that passion returning- both to write about what I hear and ready to discover potential new favorites with the understanding that sometimes it just takes a while to find something that knocks me off my feet. And that’s okay.
