[rating=9.00]
When listening to other artists take on Patty Griffin’s songs, such as the Dixie Chicks, Solomon Burke and Miranda Lambert, Griffin fans find validation in her imaginative storytelling and melodic sensibilities. Ultimately, though, they’re left missing that soaring voice; it lifts you to the mountain tops with its power then gracefully glides you back to the ground. Thankfully, after six years, Griffin returns with a masterclass in folk she’s dubbed American Kid, a record which explores life and death in a way that shows considerable candor and heartfelt honesty.
The collection largely draws inspiration from her late father, who passed away in 2009. Griffin paints a complicated picture of a man’s life told in his words and from the perspective of the ones he loves. She doesn’t rely on his finest moments, but rather digs into the darkness that haunts veterans to put his life into context. American Kid begins where his life ended; In the mournful, yet joyful opener “Go Wherever You Wanna Go,” Griffin sings optimistically about death; the soul is free to travel anywhere it hasn’t been yet, leaving behind Earthly burdens. Sparse instrumentation spotlights a particularly soulful vocal from Griffin that feels like a satisfied goodbye to a loved one.
Throughout the album’s twelve songs, Griffin invites listeners to uncover certain truths which find the singer in new lyrical territories. On “Wild Old Dog,” Griffin presents faith in the form of a stray canine struggling to find acceptance and a home. The metaphor acts as a thin wall between a song about an actual dog, and the loss of faith in the wake of devastation. Her voice adopts the same raw honesty of the words, at times gruff but mostly forlorn.
Part of the equation that makes “Wild Old Dog” so successful in its depiction of mourning is the production, courtesy of Austin-based musician Craig Ross. Having worked on Griffin’s most atmospheric album Impossible Dream in 2004, Ross brings the same openness to American Kid that allowed the songs to breathe freely on his first outing with Griffin. He’s careful never to overshadow Griffin’s voice with overproduction; instead, using subtle drum beats or dramatic reverb, he creates a delicate intimacy between Griffin and the listener.
Even on a record that orbits around the fallout from death, Griffin employs grittiness and cynicism on “Don’t Let Me Die In Florida.” Fans of Griffin’s more biting efforts like “Getting Ready” and “Flaming Red” will add this one to their favorites, as she sings, "If you catch me dying in Daytona / Roll my bed onto a train" with a wicked sneer. The song shows upstarts like The Lumineers and Delta Rae what it means to write stark, unvarnished songs with muscular percussion.
To further flex her folk muscles, Griffin invites rock god Robert Plant to sing harmony on the slow-burning epic and first single, “Ohio,” as well as the romantic “Highway Song.” Although Plant’s voice fights with Griffin’s at times, it’s a testament to Plant’s abilities as a versatile singer, given he’s used to singing lead. Repeated listens make the dissonance endearing, like the songs are being sung by a fire on the Ohio river itself, or coasting with the window down on a rural highway.
By the time the ghostly reverb echoes on “Gonna Miss You When You’re Gone,” an antagonistic bookend to the opening track’s optimism toward death, it’s easy to rank American Kid among Griffin’s best efforts. This is less a tribute to a man, and more about Griffin putting on her father’s army greens to reflect on the past, like watching silent films on a life that keeps going even after it ends. Whereas previously Griffin sang about the experiences of others impressionistically, this album features Griffin singing almost disturbingly honest reflections about her life.
Even with questionable inclusions like the Lefty Frizzell cover of “Mom and Dad’s Waltz” and the drunken sing-a-long of “Get Ready Marie,” Griffin remains efficacious in writing songs that rattle one’s beliefs and resonate with the grimmest parts of a person’s memory. She reminds us with this record the exact reason people chose to cover her songs to convey their emotions; most of the time, Patty Griffin simply does it better. There’s comfort knowing someone lives on through the stories we tell about them. And when Patty Griffin has a story to tell, we have no choice but to listen.
