The Flux Capacitor V8 malfunctioned this morning, kicking into gear midway across the Haw River Bridge when the Mazda3 Time Machine hit 58mph. Poof! I hit the brakes and skidded to a stop. The temporal circuit-driven clock showed the date as April 15, 1971, while a nearby street sign indicated that I’d vaulted onto the Glasco Turnpike in New York—a stretch of road that leads from Woodstock to West Saugerties. What the bloody hell?
An electric guitar echoed in the distance. An organ and drums, too. A man’s soulful voice filled the air. It sounded like a band jamming in the basement of a big pink house, just about. A longhaired lady and longer-haired, bearded man sauntered by, their patched-at-the-knees bell-bottom jeans swaying with every step. “Hey, man!” the guy crowed, his cadence reminding me of Mr. Rosso from Freaks and Geeks. He flashed a peace sign and smiled. “Cool car! Can you give us a lift?”
Yeah, I’m having some fun.
If you told me that Oslo-based band Heigh Chief recorded their fifth album, Chorus of Crickets, in a basement somewhere near Woodstock in the late ‘60s or early 1970s, I’d believe it. The 11-track album is a woodsy yet electric wonder that conjures the sonic stew served by a slew of long-ago groups, from the Band to the Black Crowes. It’s called Americana these days, but way back when it would have been said to be a funky amalgamation of country, R&B and rock. The band consists of Bjørn Blix (vocals and guitar), Marcus Løvdal (guitar and vocals), Lasse Kulsrud Nordby (bass), Jonathan Eikum (drums) and Lars Christian Narum (Hammond organ and piano). Theirs is a timeless sound.
One highlight, “Stumblin’ Man,” is a love song of a sort, with the narrator confessing, “I put all of my life in the letters I write/and they’re all addressed to you/I trust in all the wrongs I did right/they led me here to you.” That sums up the world of false steps and detours that make up life, in a way. Life’s lapses have a way of turning out okay once we meet that certain someone. Don’t they?
“She’ll Get Her Own” sports a slack yet taut groove; it’s the kind of tune that finds the foot pushing down on the gas pedal when you’re driving on the highway. “Beat in Bursts,” for its part, is another tender yet tough song that celebrates a love long in the making. “Old Man”—no, it’s not the Neil Young classic—offers a nuanced view of a flawed father; his laughter filled the room yet he also rubbed salt in his son’s wounds. The album closes on another high with “Southern Belle”; it features Julie Kleive on supporting vocals. (FYI, check out Kleive’s recent EP with Jenny Augusta, Insomnia; it’s quite hypnotic.)
When all’s said and done, singling out the few songs I just did seems wrong with an album such as Chorus of Crickets. It’s best experienced the way it was intended, from start to end. Play it once and you’ll play it twice, and more after that.
The Old Grey Cat 