Russ Tolman’s Goodbye El Dorado is a far cry from the dual guitar-based rock and roll he created with those residents of the Paisley Underground of the Eighties True West. On the contrary, this eighth solo album of his sounds like a somewhat ethereal soundtrack to a noir cowboy epic taking place in an alternate universe.
It should thus come as no surprise, then, that Russ Tolman handles only an acoustic guitar on this self-produced effort. His main sidekick for this project, Kirk Swan, handles an electric throughout, invariably picking and choosing his notes where ever he plays, as patiently as he does on “Los Angeles.” But those tones are little more prominent in this arrangement than anywhere else: accordion outlines a melody here whose contours Slim Swerling’s horns highlight even further.
Russ Tolman’s straightforward singing on that track betrays none of the affectations he utilizes so effectively on “North Hollywood Dream.” There the weathered attitude he camouflages just below the surface nevertheless carries some hope, a sentiment mirrored in the clarity of the guitar refrain and floating harmony vocals. As suggested on this cut, this man refuses to surrender to despair: the overriding theme of this latest collection baker’s dozen tracks (three of which appear only on CD) finds the songwriter holding on to what are perhaps the last vestiges of his faith in the future.
The availability of the lyrics on-line thus renders Tolman’s songs as an expression of and testament to that faith even if, as in the context of recordings such as this title tune, his beliefs echo through his vocals with a decidedly tongue-in-cheek air. Certainly the words to the songs are as carefully crafted as the arrangements, arguably more so, begging the question of whether the author too often sacrificed musicianship for message(s) on Goodbye El Dorado; the chipper “Yuba City,” for instance, may leave a listener wondering if he overcompensated on that front and intended this cut as a means to showcase the virtues of the band.
Nevertheless, Gary Hobish’s mastering of Russ’ own mix captures Tolman and company’s efficient interplay. For instance, the piano so prominent on “Do You Like the Way” arrives just in time to prevent the somewhat overly prevalent Mariachi motif from becoming redundant (as it threatens to on “California Winter”). The cinematic quality within many of these cuts almost but not quite makes up for the lack of real visceral impact: the prevailing inertia might be fatal on tracks like “Almost Heaven” and “Take It Easy Take It Slow,” were it not for the peppy country likes of “Pacific Rain.”
And in a similarly astute act of pacing, with the Byrds-like chimes of “Time Flies,” Russ Tolman proffers a close to Goodbye El Dorado as understated as most of what precedes it, but far more emphatic, hinting at a possible sequel to this mind-movie that’s less atmospheric and more hard-hitting.
