Concert Review: Cotton Jones

On Friday, Parsons Redhead opened up for Cotton Jones. Since I last saw them at Spaceland, a soporific acoustic show, they have sufficiently Conor-Obersted themselves, pouring heavy alt. country steel guitar all over their music. Something about it was off to me, like it wasn't genuine.

"Last night while we were sleeping / I had a dream that we were talking"

Usually, this kind of lonely folk gives me the chills. Perfect for the warm bar and the cold beer - but this was different. It felt forced, like they were trying too hard to be Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. Damn if I wasn't tapping my foot along with the music though - they were good at it.

Cotton Jones is from Nowhere-Maryland, which is extraordinary considering their sniper accurate sound: the nostalagia of Motown and soul, a sadly moaning steel guitar. The came on unpretentious and leaderless - it was unclear at first who was the frontman for the band. Quickly resolved by the vintage coat wearing, kind-of-drunk Michael Nau. His song writing skills are fairy tale-esque, dark and startling good:

"My mother kissed me between the eyes / I called it love"

or

"I just wanted to tell you / All the demons have been slayed"

NPR compared Cotton Jones to Beach House, here, but I disagree. Cotton is more out of time. Listening to their best song, "Blood Red Sentimental Blues," (see below) I forgot where I was. For a few minutes, it could have been a prom dance in the fifties, or stoned on a couch in the seventies. I certainly wanted to be the hell out of a major city: their music is rural and starry.

Low-fi folk is not new, but this is different. After Parsons Redhead, I was fiery with opinions about the genuineness in modern folk bands. There's a way to play music that speaks without being asked or want you to know it, it just is - that's the music, the record, that follows you around, the lyrics morphing with your life as you grow up. Parsons had the "right" sound, but it wasn't genuine. There was something condescending about it. Good folk, I think, happens regardless of what you think about it - because it's a person's unfiltered pain or loneliness.

Half way through Cotton Jones magically real show, they played a ballad. It was gorgeous. Michael Nau's voice cut through the yapping crowd like a trumpet, and Whitney McGraw matched him on the organ. It hit the ceilings.

Cotton Jones is not too lo-fi that you miss it. At times it felt formless and drifted, but Nau had a swagger about him that always saved it. Their harmonies were beautifully constructed, and they owned it. There was no question, no affecting the kind of music they were playing - it's just what comes out of their instruments.

Cotton Jones - Blood Red Sentimental Blues

Cotton Jones - Gotta Cheer Up