History personal and communal shapes us. In the case of country singer-songwriter Nathan Evans Fox, that translates into coming of age during the Great Recession in western North Carolina, where mill closures and factory layoffs decimated the economy. While hard times span several chapters in his story, so too does family—especially his beloved grandma, who taught him about both grit and generosity. In the years since, additional chapters have found him stacking tires at a Michelin plant in South Carolina; serving in the AmeriCorps; attending a seminary in New York City; and helping families navigate crises and grief while working as a hospital chaplain. Becoming a father while losing his dad impacted him, too—as did the Covenant School shooting response in Nashville.
Heirloom explores the inheritances passed down through the generations—and we’re not talking the family homestead. The lessons our parents gleaned from theirs and share with us, the ideas and traditions we impart to our children and, one day, they to theirs, shape us. So, too, does generational trauma. “Lots of Beginnings,” the lead-off track on the 12-track set, observes that endings are also beginnings—failure isn’t the finish line, but a starting block.
“Little Bit of Shine” delves into the difficulties of getting ahead, and shares a bon mot most anyone who’s moved away from home will embrace: “If I could live forever in Tennessee/I’d rather die in a Carolina night.” The past remains with us. “Racecar,” meanwhile, relates the civic religion of the South: stock car racing. As Fox explains in the press release, “Stock car racing was created by moonshine runners trying to make a living in poor rural communities. They built a sport around cars that only go in circles. Racers aren’t heading toward a destination, they’re risking their lives to win at doing the same thing over and over again. For me, the dangerous, gamified oval feels like a truer symbol of American life than the myth of the open frontier.” “Sevindust” turns a pesticide known for damaging ecosystems into a metaphor about belief systems. Fox observes, “While their politics, family myths, and religion offer protection for their loved ones, they bring about plenty of harm to others.”
“Landlords, Bill Lee, Etc.” seeks playful vengeance against those who take advantage of others, while “Heirloom” hopes his child will one day reap the seeds planted by her forebears. “Negative Space” gives voice to the upset that coursed through his veins following his dad’s death; it’s ugly yet cathartic. The taut “Meanness,” steps away from that specific anger to lash out at the “malignant kindness” and “willingful blindness” he’s found since moving to Nashville. “Hillbilly Hymn (Okra and Cigarettes),” on the other hand, is a sing-along that finds him sharing his vision of Utopia: “When Kingdom come we’ll want for nothing/Just a long table, a mess of beans and honey buns/The trucks are small, the trains are late/The men pick up their dinner plates/Nobody sees that the debts are paid/The guns are all for shooting clays.”
“Thinking About Quitting No. 5” shares the whys behind drinking too much: It’s the only escape many have from the day-to-day grind that’s eroded their dreams and hopes. The stark “Jesus and the Buck,” an acoustic number, serves as an artful reminder that too many employ faith for the same reason they mount deer heads on their walls: “They’re more use as trophies for the clout you can get/Somebody threw out the carcass, somebody remade the head/The tales get taller, and the facts more grand/Til Jesus complains ‘bout taxes and waves a big flag/When Jesus and the big bucks go hand in hand.” “I Know the End” brings the album full circle with an epiphany about his baby daughter that he experienced following his father’s passing: “The week my daddy died/I saw him hiding in her smile/And I swore I’d repay to him in her the love/He was owed as a child.”
Too often, I think, we as a people look toward our forebears with grievances instead of understanding, disdain rather than empathy, blaming them for their missteps and misfortunes while diminishing their oft-meager successes. Everyone is a product of their specific times and environs, however, and shaking off common beliefs generally occurs not in a flash but lifetimes. In short, Heirloom is taut and loud, quiet and introspective, the kind of album that rings true because it comes from the heart. It’s well worth many spins.
The Old Grey Cat 