Is it the hand of God or of fate that you see pointing to a man swimming in the river on the cover of this album?
Two things are obvious, one is that the swimmer is in some difficulty, the other is that it's a crap painting. I'm no artist, but I think I could do better than this. Fortunately, the music contained within is of a much higher standard.
North Carolina's Malcolm Holcombe has a raspy growl of a voice that immediately sounds like the result of hard living and/or heavy smoking. Comparisons with the late period croak of Dylan are impossible to resist.
A brooding resentment about the inequalities and injustices in this mean old world are what fire these eleven tracks.
It begins with the foot stomping Butcher In Town and closes with the calmer title track featuring backing vocals from Kim Richey.
Holcombe rages about how "war kills the truth" on the opening track and defiantly declares "I live the blues because you butcher the truth" on 'Whitewashing Door'. On 'In Your Mercy', he sings of the plight of an old woman who has lost all she worked for ("All my diamonds have been stolen").
Malcolm Holcombe has previously released eight albums but as none of these have surfaced on major labels he hasn't achieved the recognition he so clearly deserves.
While he has operated on the fringes of the Alt.Country circuit, it's evident from the company he keeps and the praise he garners that he's a man who commands a high level of respect from his peers.
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The album is produced by Ray Kennedy, the great Emmylous Harris guests on 'In Your Mercy' and Steve Earle sings and plays harmonica on 'Trail O'Money' ("there's a spirit in man not measured by money"). Add to this a kick ass five-piece band and everything is in place to do justice to these angry and, at times, reflective set of songs.
I know nothing of Holcombe's apparent hell-raising past but you can guess this personal history from the no holds barred tension of these tunes.
Although he sounds a little world-weary on tracks like 'The Crossing' and 'The Door', this is not the voice of a beaten man.
Now in his late fifties (he was born in 1955) he shows no sign of mellowing with age. You only have to hear the vitriol he packs into a single word like "taxidermy" on 'Twisted Arms' to know that this is not someone who's about to go gently into the good night.
These are all protest songs.
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