Survivors from a long gone New York City, George Usher and Lisa Burns have crafted a rewarding new release greatly emphasizing perseverance in the face of great adversity. A collaborative song cycle initiated during Usher’s battle with cancer and recorded by the pair as he slowly recovered and returned to performing, The Last Day of Winter is an inspiring, emotionally resonant work featuring the assistance of a talented band. It’s out now on compact disc via Near and Dear Music.
George Usher and Lisa Burns are accurately assessed as veterans, but across decades of experience neither has been rewarded with widespread recognition. Given the relationship of both to accessible yet substantive pop songwriting and performance, that’s a bit of a drag. Moving to NYC from Cleveland, Usher formed The Decoys; power-pop mavens should really seek out ‘81’s “Not the Trembling Kind,” though many folks will already know it as the title-track to Laura Cantrell’s 2000 debut.
Usher has accumulated a long list of credits including Beat Rodeo, the Schramms, and “satellite membership” in the Bongos, additionally collaborating on work from that group’s Richard Barone and James Mastro. He also led the combo House of Usher, cut a string of acclaimed solo discs and co-wrote the tunes found on Edward Rogers’ first two well-received albums.
Lisa Burns made a self-titled LP for MCA way back in ’78. Produced by Craig Leon with the input of the Boom Boom Band (of Willie “Loco” Alexander fame), it wields likeable neo-girl-group action; while not brain-searing in its brilliance it’s stronger than some evaluations have suggested. Burns was next in ‘80s dance music one-shot Velveteen and a good while later the country-folk-oriented The Lovin’ Kind; both acts included the participation of her husband Sal Maida. She’s also collaborated with poet Holly Anderson in New Randy and issued solo records garnering high praise.
In 2010 Usher was diagnosed with cancer, and his subsequent chemo treatments left him unable to use his hands or play instruments for over two years. Also a poet, in this period of struggle he composed a set of 12 lyrics as a form of self-therapy; the words were then put to music by Burns. As he began recovery their creative partnership continued, Usher returning to performing alongside his friend, and for The Last Day of Winter’s recording a crack outfit was assembled.
For starters there’s Burns’ husband (ex-Roxy Music and Cracker) and their son Dylan, plus Captain Kirk Douglas (the Roots), Usher’s ex-bandmate Dave Schramm, Wylie Wirth (Dead Ex’s), Mark Sedgwick (Holly & the Italians), Jonathan Gregg (Lonesome Debonairs, a mess of sessions) and others. Usher and Burns self-produced as Eric Ambel (Del-Lords, Roscoe’s Gang) did the mixing.
Song cycles are a relatively rare occurrence in the pop sphere that shouldn’t be simply lumped-in with the associated and more common phenomenon of the concept album. One of the prominent examples is Van Dyke Parks’ masterful Song Cycle of ’67; The Last Day of Winter lacks its ambitious baroque eccentricity, but it does possess the simultaneously refined and sturdy compositional backbone that often persuaded Parks into the producer’s chair.
Usher and Burns’ creation does occasionally resemble The Salesman and Bernadette, the late Vic Chesnutt’s ’98 song cycle. This casual similarity is partially due to Burns, a vocalist influenced by and mildly reminiscent of Emmylou Harris, said singer having appeared on Chesnutt’s album, though Burns’ voice evinces a distinctive edge. The two works also share a literary lyrical quality as well as inclinations toward Americana eschewing the homespun.
The Last Day of Winter immediately establishes classic guitar-pop vibrancy, a post-Byrds orientation imbuing “Wake Me When Tomorrow’s Here” with a hint of country-rock. If Burns can momentarily bring Harris to mind, the opening duet doesn’t recall Gram and Emmylou, the pair’s tough quaver offering a unique appeal.
The sharpness of vocal timbre increases in “Depression Glass,” a tactic befitting the weight of the words. It begins with Burns alone, and when Usher joins he provides gentle counterpoint. As their harmony blooms in intensity the track attains an achy beauty harkening back to the Everly Brothers’ pop-chart extension of prior sibling tandems the Louvins and the Delmores.
“More Than That I Cannot Say” reminds me a little of the country-pop crossover hits that intermittently surfaced in the late-‘70s/early-‘80s, a connection unsurprising given Burns admiration for Dolly Parton. However, the music’s heftier than the Nashville-crossover norm, with subtly robust drumming, explosive interjections blending faux-hard rock guitar and gospel fervor, and strains of organ near the finish.
Bringing it home is the smooth warmth of the duet during the verses. It segues into “Lost in Translation,” Burns taking the lead (as Usher supports her quite nicely) on a sophisticated pop nugget, the atmosphere considerably more metropolitan than rural. Indeed, accentuated by piano a ‘70s AOR aspect arises.
With “My Precious Wisdom” Usher steps to the fore, his singing a tad Neil Young-like as the keyboard and the general structure further promote a ‘70s singer-songwriter vibe. And “If it Ever Comes to Pass” extends this scenario into the next decade and intersects with the adult end of the college pop spectrum; I’m reminded of Don Dixon and Marti Jones.
Don’t know if I’d want to live in its neighborhood, but it’s amiable enough for visiting. From there “Dark Blue Room” diverts into decidedly honky-tonk environs, frankly a fine place for their sustained duet as the spotlight is then spilled upon Burns; “Wasn’t Born to Belong” reigns-in to just piano and her powerful yet tender vocal.
Perhaps following an internal pattern, the guitar-pop of “Never Ever Land” starts with Usher up front, though Burns is such a strong complement that she’s bound to emerge again in due time. She particularly excels on “The World That Rested on Your Word,” acoustic strum and harmony slyly instilling an Everly’s air to the proceedings once more.
As we approach The Last Day of Winter’s close, “The Ferryman’s Name” unfurls a slice of Young-infused Hoboken-styled pop augmented with a trumpet line insinuating a deceptively sunshiny disposition. It sets the table for the finale; chamber strings giving the almost ethereal title track necessary weight; as the tune progresses the trumpet reemerges to add color.
By now it should be abundantly clear the Usher and Burns duet is expertly rendered throughout and furthermore smartly balanced in a bright mix allowing the listener to absorb the whole, or if they so choose, to zero in on Usher’s words. They’re good words, excellent in fact, and they combine with his friend’s songwriting and the band’s playing to solidify a life-affirming, highly enjoyable document. I’d say The Last Day of Winter lends a capper to both careers, but obviously neither is done yet.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A
