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Milton Mapes:
Westernaire
The album starts with a promise that it just cant keep. Opener Great Unknown sets the stage for a remarkable album that only partially materializes in the next ten songs. The chugging acoustic guitar, the steady ride cymbal, and the words: Im a brave young gun/ Ive got the world sittin on my thumb/ I feel air fill my lungs/ Theres a race that Ive gotta run... ...which sounds like vocalist Greg Vanderpool is singing to himself while driving the hearse in a funeral procession. The mood is set, and I, as the listener, am braced for a brilliant record. Track two turns up the tempo for the alt-country rocker, Maybe Youre Here, Maybe Youre Not, and things are still looking good. But from this point on, the album is a mixed bag. Some of the songs are fantastic, such as The Only Sound That Matters, but many of the remaining lot are only mediocre. Take A Thousand Songs about California, for example; which sounds like something even Counting Crows would have thrown away. I mention Counting Crows for a reason, since the yearning in Vanderpools voice reminds me of that found in Adam Duritzs, though Milton Mapes doesnt seem to fancy themselves as ham-handedly poetic. Nor do they seem to be the washed-up musical whores that the Crows have become, desperate for a successful radio single and a return to glory. But I digress. Westernaire had me anticipating genius but didnt deliver like Id hoped it would. Still this is a good record, just not a great one. Musically, these songs possess a majesty that many bands fail to capture, but the lyrics dont always hold up their end of the bargain. These boys are on the way to something beautiful, but they havent got there yet.
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