Friday morning: We’re out and about, to the doctor’s, to breakfast, to here, to there, one errand after the next, with the new Mikaela Davis album our soundtrack when in the car. I don’t know who plays on what or who wrote what just yet, and won’t for a few days—my LP is “in transit,” as the postal folks like to say, and the online info is spotty. In theory, I suppose, I could click through the hoops of Apple Music to locate the lyrics, and maybe I will once we get home, but for now, traversing the stop-and-go traffic of Fordham Boulevard: Davis’ infectious sound flows from the speakers, the songs’ meanings and melodies swirling with echoes of yesterday, today and even tomorrow. The lyrical reflections glint off a polished ‘80s sheen mixed with a ‘70s sensitivity, conjuring Tom Petty, Fleetwood Mac, T.Rex, and even, in one spot, the Beatles. It’s quite cool.
The album opens with the propulsive “(Looking Through) Rose-Colored Glasses,” which features Madison Cunningham and Tim Heidecker on backing vocals; I spotlighted it a while back, so won’t repeat myself here. It’s a tasty little rocker that works well alone ot when paired with “Nothin’s on the Radio,” which finds her revisiting a memory from her childhood: driving with her mother in her dad’s Jeep while the Counting Crows fade in and out of radio static. It’s a gem of a song that’s sure to transcend the clouds in concert, I think.
“11:11,” the album’s first single, dives into memories not quite so sweet; when I wrote about it in February, I called it the flip side to Bruce Springsteen’s “Hungry Heart.” It reminds me, too, of the A.E. Stallings poem “Jigsaw Puzzle,” about how we often try to recreate the time before things fell apart—and never succeed. The gentle “Wild Flower” injects optimism into the proceedings, with its gentle lilt a thing of beauty.
A moody Cass McCombs tune, “Mizmoon,” follows; it showcases Davis’ honey-dipped vocals, and serves as a perfect link to “Starlight Tonight,” an uptempo ode to the night sky, memories, and escape, and how—try as we might—we’re all running fast but falling behind. “Junk Love,” which features Wednesday’s Karly Hartzman on backing vocals, is another Petty-esque tune, this one about the sugary sweet nature of a relationship past its end date. “The Wrong Way” finds Davis digging a cool T.Rex vibe, while second-guessing her never-ending life on the road—at least, that’s what occurred to me while stuck in traffic.
The piano-based “Spring Petals in the Snow” is, a la a spring snow, a thing of beauty, even while she contemplates matters of life and love. Two lines jumped out to me upon the first, second and now 20th listen: “I remember when yesterday was tomorrow”; and “Time moves forward, but I’m lost in reverse.” Who hasn’t felt that at some point or another?! The album closes with “(That’s Not) Who I Wanna Be,” a smart metaphor about the state not just of modern politics but modern life.
From what I gather, Davis and Circles Around the Sun/Grateful Shred collaborators Dan Horne (bass) and John Lee Shannon (guitar) recorded and produced the 10-track outing at Horne’s UHF Studio in Glenside, CA; the album title Graceland Way is not an homage to Elvis Presley’s Memphis home or the classic Paul Simon song, but the road where said studio is located. Backing her are Circles/Shred bandmates, plus a slew of special guests. In addition to Cunningham, Heidecker, and Hartzman, they include New Orleans keyboardist extraordinaire Neal Francis, who plays on “Nothin’s on the Radio”; Hannah Read, who handles the fiddle; and a few of Davis’ Southern Star pals, including Kurt G. Johnson on pedal steel and Shane McCarthy on bass.
Much is often made of Davis’ being a harpist, as it is something of a novelty within the rock-pop world. Hers is a unique sound, to be sure, but ultimately the instrument matters less than the songs and performances. As evidenced by our stop-and-go outing yesterday, however, Graceland Way resonates in the best of ways; it steals one away from the immediate, with the melodies joining with memories and the poetic lyrics extrapolating insights about life and love. To my ears, it’s everything that’s good about this thing we call music—and one of the year’s best albums.
The Old Grey Cat 