Greg Brown is a storyteller. He’s what I like most about folk type musicians: He’s down to earth. He could be flashy and famous, but he shows up on stage and sits down to play his guitar and tells stories, like the one in “Canned Goods,” about specific but ordinary and every day things. He excels at keeping it real.
I picked up Greg Brown‘s latest album, Freak Flag, today. I’m sampling it now. Nothing is jumping out at me. Deep voiced Greg, exaggerating the country twang in some songs, a bit too much for my tastes, leaning dangerously into honky tonk territory. No catchy tunes. Nothing great but okay, I suppose.
Thus ends my review based on sampling the album in five minutes.
Note: This is only a five-minute review of the album. More details notes will appear in the comments.
I was just listening more carefully to a song from Greg Brown’s Covenant album called “Rexroth’s Daughter” (which can be requested at Whole Wheat Radio). I’ve heard this song many times, but I never realized the girl he’s pining over the whole time has gone missing, maybe even murdered by the guy next door. Or has she?
The murderer who lived next door seemed like such a normal guy.
If you try to follow what they shove at us, you run out of tears to cry.
I heard a man speak quietly. I listened for a while.
He spoke from his heart to my woe, and then he bowed and smiled.
What is real but compassion, as we move from birth to death?
I am looking for Rexroth’s daughter, and I’m running out of breath.
Spring will come back — I know it will, and it will do its best.
So useful, so endangered, like a lion or a breast.
I think about my children when I look at any child’s face,
and pray that we will find a way to get with all this amazing grace.
It’s so cold out there tonight, so stormy I can hardly see.
And I’m looking for Rexroth’s daughter, and I guess I always will be.