Veteran singer-songwriter Mark Mulcahy, he of Miracle Legion and Polaris, has a new solo record out, adding to his already ample sum, and it’s safe to say that folks into his prior work will find it of interest. The artist’s aim to cut the record with strangers didn’t pan out, but the results still lack the aura of mere motions traversed. Inevitably deepening the familiarity that comes with a long career, The Gus is largely an invigorating and purposeful addition to his catalog. It’s out now on vinyl, compact disc, and digital via the Mezzotint label.
With his 2013 return to musical action Dear Mark J. Mulcahy, I Love You, the titular man received praise from novelist Rick Moody, which in literary terms is a considerable accolade. And for The Gus, which comes after 2017’s The Possum in the Driveway (his follow-up to Dear Mark J.), Mulcahy found inspiration in the writing of George Saunders.
This may leave Mulcahy newbies suspecting that he’s a fine lyricist (or at least trying to be), but unsure over his instrumental strengths. These doubts might relate to how musicians who get singled out for the quality of their words (or who find influence or simple stimulation between the covers of books) often accompany their verses and choruses with sounds that can strike the ear as almost an afterthought. Or perhaps the music is precious or trite (as if the lyrics are transforming cliché).
Worry not, however. While it’s clear Mulcahy spends time in the reading room, it’s just as plain he’s been inspired and has honed his craft in clubs and bars. Plus, he’s been at it a long time, with Miracle Legion debuting in the mid-’80s. Mulcahy has obviously witnessed a lot of changes firsthand, though his solo stuff has maintained a pretty consistent mingling of “classic” singer-songwriter and indie qualities.
Without extensive side-by-side comparisons, The Gus registers as a little more indebted to the earlier of those two sensibilities, though a few shades of post-post-post Dylan and Lou Reed aside (both come through loud and clear in finale “What If I Go off with Bob?”; I’m pretty sure it’s a different Bob), he’s not drawing too heavily on any particular examples. Instead, there are a few spots that are mildly reminiscent of melodic heartland rock.
But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Opener “Wicked World,” with its use of cello and singing that’s a bit John Darnielle-like (a similarity heard on prior Mulcahy efforts), leans decidedly toward the indie (a movement he helped to shape) as it pulls off deep feeling without getting mired in the overly emotional (a common strength of the artist).
As a duet with Rain Phoenix, the track also points to Mulcahy’s desire to do things differently with The Gus. As said, the original plan was to make the record entirely with people he’d not only not played with before, but apparently didn’t even know personally. Stepping away from this intention was probably for the good, and yet his desire to avoid the formulaic is admirable.
It’s “Daisy Marie” that really conjures the old-school singer-songwriter pop-rock approach in earnest, especially when that organ comes in. The post-Cale VU influence can be heard in the clean guitar lines, but the singing reminds me of the scaled-back ’60s reverence of Parker, Lowe, and even early Petty. It’s with the louder rocking of “Taking Baby Steps” that the heartland angle really comes to the fore (I say heartland rather than Americana, as to not give the wrong impression). The song is maybe not the biggest of deals, but in avoiding a forced homespun atmosphere, it succeeds.
“Later for the Box” reins things in with some crisp mid-tempo guitar pop. Like the other tracks on the album, it’s lyrically rich without giving the impression that it’s forcing the issue (like he’s trying too hard to maintain those literary motifs). “I Won’t Tell Anyone but You” switches things up a bit, sounding a little like a mix of Squeeze and Robyn Hitchcock but with a nice gnawing guitar solo in the middle.
Referencing marijuana and squares amid tough jangle and keyboard that’s increasingly garage-like, “People:Beware” starts side two in a tangibly ’60s zone. But “Mr. Bell” quickly changes course as Mulcahy ruminates upon our current Trumpian reality with piano up front. As accordion and then a horn section come in, it kinda sounds like he’s in the studio with Calexico, but no; The Gus was produced by Mulcahy and Marc Seedorf with extensive contributions from multi-instrumentalist Ken Maiuri.
“Mr. Bell” is only indirectly about Trump. It more accurately addresses a one percenter and does so while sidestepping the didactic. This is meant as a compliment, and yet as the abuses of power and money pile up on a daily basis, addressing the situation with artistic (literary) nuance can seem more than a bit inadequate. “Happy Boat” retains the piano but slides into a sorta ’70s Adult Contemporary zone, but with a fair amount of guitar heft.
Speaking of such, J Mascis guests on “What If I Go off with Bob?” The track really does close things out on a high note. But don’t let’s overlook penultimate cut “A Long Time Ago,” which enhances the aforementioned rootsy quality with a touch of (to my ear) Appalachian folk styling. It completes a record that connects as a bit lesser than its predecessors, though this is understandable and in a sense appealing.
That is, Mark J. was the big return (notably after the death of his wife). Possum was the follow-up. The Gus is just a record, but often a very good one. It would make a solid introduction to the work of Mark Mulcahy.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
B+
