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Being a Counting Crows fan has never been easy. (Remember that episode of Full House where DJ and Stephanie dig the Crows? That killed our credibility.) I’m always asked why I enjoy listening to a middle-aged man with dreadlocks mope and whine. Well, because he mopes and whines so brilliantly, and for the most part, we’re all heading in that direction anyway, save the dreadlocks.

Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings loosely fits into the category of “concept album,” the first half-dozen songs (Saturday Nights) representing dissolution and destruction and the final eight tracks (Sunday Mornings), according to Duritz, dealing with recovery and the process of rebuilding the lives we tear down. Both “sides” are contained on a single compact disc.

“1492,” a reworked barnburner that has resided on hard drives for years, jumpstarts the album with great promise and hints that the Crows might mope with a muscle missing since their stunning Recovering the Satelites. However, for every “1492″ or “Cowboys,” an equally appealing Duritz vent, there are forgettable rockers like “Insignificant” and “You Can’t Count on Me” that feel painfully forced.

The softer tracks come on the second side, but they offer only a few memorable moments. “When I Dream of Michelangelo” is a perfectly crafted melody for Duritz’s bashful pouting, and “On a Tuesday in Amsterdam Long Ago” exemplifies the beauty of minimalism, with Duritz’s naked storytelling voice accompanied only by Charlie Gillingham on piano. Nothing else is even in the same ballpark as these two.

Duritz can turn a phrase with the best of songwriters, which is one of the reasons this album is such a disappointment. He still has his same hang-ups, but you’d think six years between albums would have given him new or more interesting ways of writing about them. He beats the horses that Margery once dreamed of to death with choruses like “So if you see that movie star and me/If you see my picture in a magazine” on “Los Angeles” and “I don’t want to feel so different/But I don’t want to be insignificant” on “Insignificant.” The most painful line of the album for me is “But I would be lying/If I didn’t tell you the truth.” I’m still cringing from that one.

There is the glimmer of a solid album on Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings, but it’s buried deep beneath a pile of unrealized material. Fellow fans have implored me to consider that the band was deliberately going for a “raw” sound on this record. Hey, “raw” is great. I love “raw.” But the songwriting has to be there, and it just isn’t on the bulk of this album, and that’s a first for this talented group of musicians.

In the end, Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings leaves you longing for the weekend to end and the Crows to return to the studio for a better effort.

Lyrics: C-
Sound: B
Instrumentation: C
Vocals: B-
Overall: C+

Checkout:
“1492?
“When I Dream of Michelangelo”

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Each month, I delve into both my record collection and the miscellaneous sections of my favorite record shops to recommend an artist and album that might be missing from your playlists. After you’re done reading, you have no more excuses.

Mark Mulcahy’s voice-one that most have never knowingly listened to-is “the most beautiful voice I have ever heard,” according to no less than Radiohead’s Thom Yorke, a name synonymous with credibility among music fans.

Mulcahy has managed to elude fame for over two decades now despite paying his dues through nearly every conceivable musical medium. He played the part of college radio darling as the frontman of Miracle Legion. His group Polaris acted as house band for the Nickelodeon cult hit The Adventures of Pete and Pete. He has teamed up with cartoonist Ben Katchor to write operas, and the two recently completed a successful run of their off-Broadway musical, The Slug Bearers of Kayrol Island (or the Friends of Dr. Rushower). For all his creative collaborations, Mulcahy’s strongest work resides on his three full-length solo albums, Fathering being his debut.

The term “solo album” is not something that Mulcahy takes lightly. He plays all the instruments on Fathering, but his voice, an instrument in its own right, is what carries these songs. The stripped-down arrangements are a skeleton that Mulcahy gives flesh to with vocals that range from deep hushes (Hey Self Defeater, Apartment Murders) to distinctive wails (Jason) and even a falsetto (Ciao My Shining Star), each delivered with compelling sincerity and each challenging him to explore structures that most songwriters won’t attempt.

Fans of Polaris will recognize the beautiful meshing between Mulcahy’s guitar and voice, but the only songs of that kinetic-pop variety are “Jason” and “Bill Jocko.” On Fathering, Mulcahy is more comfortable letting his songs meander and wander with short bursts of energy that signal urgency or a sense of sureness, even if Mulcahy is only certain that he is uncertain. Perhaps, the mood of Fathering is best conveyed by these lines from the album’s “In The Afternoon.” (“In the afternoon/On a porch in a wicker chair/I’m listening again/To your life story.”)

“Storyteller” is a complementary title often bestowed upon songwriters, but Mulcahy does something complex and rare on Fathering. He tells a story without beating listeners over the head with the fact that he’s telling them a story. These songs are subtle tales that reflect upon old relationships and past transgressions in a cathartic negotiation of a path forward, each song culminating in a resolution (or as close to one as Mulcahy can muster) revealed through intricate vocal inflections or musical variations near its conclusion. In “Hey Self Defeater,” the final message to the demoralized is simply (“You’re underrated so quit looking down/And look up”). “I Woke Up In The Mayflower” resolves in a gentle diffusion and the line (“And so I just lay back in bed”).

Fathering leaves the listener with the impression that songwriting is an epistemic experience for Mulcahy-that we’re witnessing him trying to sort something out for himself, and the results are rarely definitive. The gorgeous “Hurry, Please Hurry” boasts the less than reassuring promise (“It should be fine/No really I’m sure/There’s hardly any reason to worry”). The stuttering delivery of words like “tempted” and “truth” in “Tempted” reveals uncertainty about being able to move beyond an unhealthy relationship. “I Woke Up In The Mayflower” is comprised almost entirely of questions about Mulcahy’s future-ones that he grills himself with, as if he is the prosecutor, witness, and accused all in one; and as always, the jury seems to be out.

The highlights of Fathering are “Hey Self Defeater,” “I Woke Up In The Mayflower,” and “Tempted.” They document Mulcahy’s transition both from band member to solo artist and from juvenility to maturity. The title track, “Fathering,” demonstrates that he is considering the consequences of his actions for perhaps the first time. (“Well I got away clean…at least I thought I did/But being a grownup…you might start to hear voices/And I can feel the weight upon my shoulders/’Cause sometimes being loved takes away all your choices.”)

Next time you have a free afternoon, a porch, and a wicker chair, give Mark Mulcahy a spin. Even if you don’t have any of those things, still go ahead. Catch you in May.

Where to Pick it Up:

Amazon.com: Used – from $8.41

Mezzotint.com: New – $12.00 (Mark’s own label provides the cheapest new copy.)

Learn More About Mark Mulcahy:
Mezzotint.com
Mark Mulcahy on MySpace

Check Out:
“Hey Self Defeater” from Fathering
“We’re Not in Charleston Anymore” from SmileSunSet

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