If you’ve been hanging out around here for any length of time, you’ll have heard your reviewer espousing the fact that this here super highway of ours means that we receive fascinating stuff from a galaxy of bands we’d probably never otherwise hear from.
And, when we happen to receive one of the quality of “West Coast Grand” by the LA quintet of the same name, then it all seems totally worthwhile. No, before this CD landed gently on my doormat, I’d never heard of this band who – for the uninitiated are run apparently very democratically by Jimmy Harrison, Bobby Gonzales, Jason De Meo, Christopher Parker and James O’Connell – but I’m sure glad it did as it’s an old-fashioned country-rock album (as opposed to the more nebulous ‘Americana’) of the highest order.
Released on the band’s own Grand Coast label, “West Coast Grand” has all bases admirably covered and recalls all the right names without ever sounding hackneyed or horribly obvious. Opener “Back To School” is a lively, no-nonsense rocker with ace harmonies, snaky guitar hooks and glimpses of Uncle Tupelo and Halfway and songs like the emotional and grizzled “In Time” and the bar-room brawler “City Lights” demonstrate WCG can let rip with the best of them. The latter is especially descriptive, actually, and dispatched with the tight economy of Steve Earle’s early years.
As the album develops, though, WCG prove they are equally adept with a whole load of roots-related styles, which they proceed to stamp with their own inimitable brand of authenticity. They have a natural sad and blue melancholy slant and it comes beautifully to the fore on songs like the fatalistic “Time To Die”, the understated “Second Chance” and the deliciously enigmatic “Virginia”, which has a way cool bottleneck guitar break and a little of the Southern Gothic-psych flavour REM brought to songs as evocative as “Time After Time” and “King Of Birds.”
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Amazingly, for a record as steeped in roots as “West Coast Grand” is, we’re at track eight – the playful, slightly tongue-in-cheek “You Think We’re In Love (But We’re Still In Texas)” – before any pedal steel peals out, but they bring on the Burrito sound to great effect during the magnificent, swaying “Last Train Home” and re-shape it once again for the enthusiastic, buskabilly shuffle of “All For Nothing.” If anything, though, they’re even better when they tap into the The Band’s organic, roots-y sound on songs like “So Far Away”, which has everything from the discreet strings to the upright piano and some fiercely funky, Levon Helm-style drumming.
If anything, though, they hold the album’s finest moment in reserve for the end and “West Coast Grand” itself. Opening with Richard Manuel-style piano and brushed drums, it morphs into a sad-eyed tribute to the Golden state (“California in the fog/ such a strange place to be/ and it always catches me in here”) while eschewing even the merest hint of Hollywood. It is truly lovely and the perfect way to wrap up a beautifully-poised roots-rock record which – at a just-right 40 minutes – never once puts a foot wrong. Who says the ‘Americana’ sponge has been squeezed dry just yet?
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