Two things that are bound to pique your reviewer's interest straight off. One: a band who name their album after a line from one of Neil Young's greatest songs. Two: a band who say they're "playing these songs hoping we'd get through them before they collapsed."
So, I'm already intrigued by ROYAL CITY long before they've even struck a creaky, lugubrious note. But that's nothing compared to the melancholic exhilaration I'm feeling after experiencing the 11 warped, spooked, but utterly engaging tracks making up "Alone At The Microphone."
A few facts for the uninitiated. Royal City are named after Guelph, near Toronto, from where they hail. It's dubbed "the royal city," apparently. Lead by singer/ warped mastermind Aaron Riches, they number four and "Alone At The Microphone" is their second album and belated follow-up to 2000's "At Rush Hour The Cars."
Stylistically, "Alone At The Microphone" has tunes like "Rum Tobacco" and "Blood And Faeces" which certainly won't alienate anyone who's previously embraced the twisted backwood Americana thrown up by The Handsome Family, Lambchop, Will Oldham and - further back by Neil Young himself. Indeed, the immortally-titled "Spacy Basement" - with its' upright piano, shuffle beat, banjo and Riches' nasal whine has more than a hint of "Harvest" about it.
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However, Royal City bring their own brand of bizarre, macabre humour to bear as well. Dark, visceral and (I hope) very tongue-in-cheek, they have a great way with intro lines as "Drunk on the floor with hurl in my hair" (from "And Miriam Took A Timbrel In Her Hand") proves, plus a penchant for weird, banjo-led Appalachian folk songs like "Under A Hollow Tree" and the,er, deliciously sensitive "Daisies" with its' lyric about: "Blood on the floor, pork chops on the stove, cum all over the bathroom door." Ooh, the romantic old devils.
Although they have the genius to leaven the darkness a little with something like the yearning "You Are The Vine", it's chiefly the dark and compelling nature of these morbidly fascinating downhome creations that draws you to them. In the end, it's the ramshackle, collapsible nature of Royal City's songs that looks like putting a significant Canadian spin on the whole cosmic Americana explosion.
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