95 North. . . The Newspaper

"Light snow falling/ on the muffler shops and lumber yards". James McMurty, you got me. The folk master somehow describes my neighborhood in Middletown, CT perfectly in his winter-scene setting tune "Outskirts". I live in the place where the residential zone and industrial zone meet- with an old Remington factory, a tow truck stop, the town dump, a freight train line, a working class neighborhood, and the Coginchaug and Mattabesset rivers all converging within a stones throw of my dwelling place. It's perfectly New England, with the spunky downtown, industrial decay, and Dunkin Donuts all living together as one. McMurty's from Texas, but it doesn't matter. He documents a the emotional landscape of a New England winters day with as much precision as Robert Frost (sorry about the hyperbole). Here, a steady acoustic guitar along with a full band of drums and bass follow the story of a winters day, of muffled heat inside and wet snow out, as the landscape...

James McMurtry, who's name I keep wanting to spell minus the "r" at the end, has written some damn good songs. He's the son of a southern pop-novelist and english professor who delivers his tightly worded short stories with incredible authenticity and grace. For years, McMurtry's been cruising around the edges of the Americana/folk music scene, playing extensive dates in his home state of Texas and points north and west, (Montana, Oklahoma, rodeos, county fairs) and quietly earning his place as one of the best songwriters you've never heard of. McMurtry has an odd way of playing the guitar-he often plays a 12 string- somehow drawing out more emotion and mood out of simple chords than most. His voice is not dynamic-he's not quiet one song, desperate in another, and mournful in the next. Rather, he demonstrates a vocal consistency throughout his entire catalogue, and for good reason: it's downright honest, direct, and well-meaning. Even in his dar...