Although this reviewer comes to him with relatively sketchy prior knowledge, Scottish troubadour DEAN OWENS arrives with a respected track record in roots-rock circles, having previously fronted The Felsons and made two critically-acclaimed solo albums in recent years.
The critical respect has translated into Owens garnering some heavy help when assembling a band to record 'Whisky Hearts' in a suitably authentic setting outside of Nashville. From The Mavericks, we have drummer/ vibes player Paul Deakin and bassist Robert Reynolds, while the pedal steel and dobro is provided by Al Perkins (Burritos, Jayhawks, Rolling Stones) and most of the electric guitars and more besides are dealt with admirably by Will Kimbrough (Rodney Crowell and oodles more).
So, if you wanna get ahead in Cosmic Americana, you could do worse and certainly these guys put the expected professional lead in Dean Owens' creative pencil here. Opener 'Years Ago' is a gritty, roots-y affair with a convincing the-more-things-change-the-more-they-stay-the-same message, the band cooking without trying too hard and the unlikely-named Jeff Coffin adding a fine, Clarence Clemons-style saxophone. Hell, by the time they've followed up with the cool, relaxed groove of 'Beth On The Trampoline' - where Thad Cockrell sweetens Owens' Glaswegian grit with some sunny, southern California harmonies - and the 'Give Up But Don't Give Out'-era Primal Scream stomp of 'Nothing To Lose' has kicked in, it's beginning to sound like they've got it all sewn up.
Sadly, though, the album then suffers from that all-too-familiar middle secton sag and while it's not hard to appreciate experience-grizzled tales like 'Adrift' and the forgotten housewife storyboard of 'May', the songs themselves have a tendency to plod. It goes without saying that the band perform immaculately, but it's all too smooth, everyone's playing too within their capacity to really shine and while there's nothing intrinsically wrong with Owens' honest delivery, he doesn't appear to have the edge of UK compadres like Michael Weston King or Alex Elton-Wall here.
Actually, it's only when they conjure up the clunky, clavinet-assisted groove of 'Leaving To Remain' that the record's middle section wakes up and smells the coffee. Maybe it's the domestic disharmony lyrics that poke through the skein or else the self-analytical lyrics ("I wouldn't remember me either"), but overall the song adds up to the sort of thing Greg Dulli might lay down, and that's surely a good thing.
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Thankfully, it turns out Owens has fire in reserve and he turns it on in fine style during the record's final third. 'Hallelujah' is the start of the comeback, with the band cranking up the spangly electric guitars and Owens squaring up to his gutsy vocal, but it's when they hit the ensuing 'Raining In Glasgow' that things really pick up. Suddenly, the Tennessee backdrop dissipates and we're slap bang in the Glaswegian West End, with a suitably emotional Owens singing of watching Elvis Costello & The Attractions playing 'Pump It Up' at The Barrowlands, the band following with a plaintive, melancholy-soaked backdrop and a lump forming in everyone's collective throat.
From here on, the floodgates open for the killer KO of the title track and the closing 'Man From Leith.' The former is unashamedly Celtic-tinged, with Kimbrough contributing mandolin and accordion and following Owens down as he tells the tale of the boy from the ship building yards who's fallen on hard times. It's effective as hell, but quite probably trumped by the closing 'Man From Leith'. Very much an open tribute to Owens' father, it opens as an organ-drenched hymnal, picks up folk-flecked guitars and benefits no end from Perkins' skilful dobro playing. The lyrics are the very essence of tough tempered with tender and by the time Owens get to the last verse ("you were the first to show me the Highlands and Muhammed Ali/ and when I became a boxer you were there for me") you're on a bus heading for Portobello with him. Wonderful stuff.
All of which makes you wonder why Dean Owens decided to make 'Whisky Hearts' in Nashville, really, because while his band here certainly have the makings of any country-rock head's dream combination, its' raw, emotional heart remains grounded in Scotland and you can't help wondering what might have ensued should the band have come to Owens rather than the other way round. Still, even allowing for this, 'Whisky Hearts' goes down smoothly and leaves you with a pleasant aftertaste that suggests further tastings will be necessary in future.
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