eric: by david grahame. review by alan haber. buhdge

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Eric David Grahame Dog Turner (2004) Midway through "Imagine That," a song that appears ninth in the running order on David Grahame's ambitious, ultimately life affirming new album Eric, Grahame observes that "any fracture in our hearts can make love disappear," and that, far and above any observation laid bare during these 13 songs, sums up the intrinsic undercurrent of hurt hearts beating just a little bit slower that runs in the underbelly of the subject matter here at hand. Pain, sorrow and the willingness to want to conquer said toxins are hardly new topics for Grahame; his strength has always been how he marries the sour with the sweet, how he conjures seemingly effortlessly, exquisitely-crafted songs, bereft of any fat, getting in and then out in as little time as possible. The long fade has never been part of Grahame's bag of tricks; nor has the long, drawn out solo or the endlessly repetitive chorus that easily wears out its welcome after two minutes of play. Grahame is a master at making every note, and word, count, and never belaboring the point of it all. Take "Mary Always Knows," one of three extraordinary songs that form the core of this extraordinary album. In just two minutes and 21 seconds, over a luscious acoustic guitar track, a close-miked Grahame directs those with a lack of grasp on "the lies of youth" to go to Mary, who "always knows the truth." Mary, "the best deal out there," has all the answers, alright, but don't look for some leggy blonde or matronly librarian to spill the beans: Mary could be a girl, or just about anything really, that lets loose the lowdown on life's travails. In "My Lucky Day," the narrator looks back to his youth and flash forwards to the present that is full of the dark and the bleak and the broken promises of days long past, admitting that he is "a train on time, I'm a new sunrise, There is nowhere else to go but tomorrow's got to be my lucky day." You can hear his heart breaking, coming to the realizations that manifest themselves with growing up and find one's place in the world; Grahame's arrangement is full of hope, with rich harmonies in the choruses providing the sweet tinge to the somewhat sour outlook on display. "Milk Carton Ad," the third core song, is endlessly clever, both lyrically and musically, in its depiction of a person who seeks to disappear, to check out from his life and move away from his problems. "Throwing in the towel," he sings, "Feeling weak, This'll be my hour, so to speak." With that, the person withdraws, his legacy being his photo appearing on milk cartons, a lost soul. His admission is heartbreakingly sad: "Come tomorrow I will not be here, I will be gone. You can kick, you can cry, from a milk carton ad I'll say goodbye. Has anybody seen me?" Grahame's best song among more best songs than a flock of artists can claim in a career, this one will have you at your knees, feeling weak...so to speak. It feels strange reviewing a David Grahame album, having co-produced all of his previous releases, save for The Power Station Sessions; now, instead of being on the inside looking out, I am on the outside looking in. Although well before this album arrived, I heard a few roughs (one of which became "I'm Gonna Miss You") and early versions of five other songs, I had no input into the making of this record. In fact, its emergence, when I wasn't sure if Grahame would ever make another record, surprised me; when a review copy hit my mailbox, I eagerly played it, and immediately loved it. That's the way it goes with David Grahame albums; through it all, he remains my favorite artist, because he speaks to me in ways that I cannot make clear; because he has soaked up most of the same influences that I have; but mostly, mostly, because he is able to craft genuinely affecting songs that can be enjoyed on many different levels. Playing all the instruments seems like a daunting task, but Grahame handles it with great ease, writing and recording quickly to capture the moment before it slips away. The moments captured on Eric invoke all the feelings that souls can conjure; certainly pain and loss and supposed hopelessness are evident, but so are hopefulness and the promise of happiness. The opener, "Out of This World," is relentlessly happy, as it channels the best of McCartneyisms and Beatles nods. Here, a woman is a man's savior, "simply out of this world." But it's all about context: Is she this man's savior, or, perhaps, his escape hatch? The deceptively simple, bluesy, vibes-tinged "The Loneliest Boy," accented by soothing jazz guitar lines, states its CV simply: "I'm the loneliest boy in the universe, I am lonely, yes I am." I could go on, but I'll save the rest of this album's pleasures for your ears, including the marvelous "Fly," with is catchy chorus, and the album closer, "What Everyone Should Know," in which a man looks back on a relationship now ended, benefiting the listener with the realization that, should you find yourself in the same position, you will have learned "what everyone should know, who falls in love." I'd like to think the lesson learned is how to make things right next time, but there is a sadness in this lyric, so perhaps it's a case of too little learned too late, but hopefully not. An artist continually growing in his craft, David Grahame has made the album of his career, one that belongs not simply in every music fan's collection, but also in every keen observer's "life's lessons learned" arsenal. If your path, your journey through the days and nights, has crossed with the yin and yang of it all, this is the album for you. I can imagine the narrators of these songs wishing to hop into the toy plane pictured so innocently on Grahame's first album, hoping to escape to a better life, but the major lesson learned here has to be, must be, that the best escape is to real life, not to some unnamed, far away place. The best escape is to the here and now, where rewards are tangible and emerge from beating hearts. That is what is evident for me, at least, listening to Eric, an exquisite collection of songs, a marvel, punctuated by jangly guitars, insightful, expressive vocals, music that will touch your heart, and an artist working at the peak of his considerable powers. You can ask for more from a record, but you won't get it. Alan Haber October 27, 2004
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Eric
David Grahame
Dog Turner (2004)

david grahame's eric Midway through "Imagine That," a song that appears ninth in the running order on David Grahame's ambitious, ultimately life affirming new album Eric, Grahame observes that "any fracture in our hearts can make love disappear," and that, far and above any observation laid bare during these 13 songs, sums up the intrinsic undercurrent of hurt hearts beating just a little bit slower that runs in the underbelly of the subject matter here at hand.

Pain, sorrow and the willingness to want to conquer said toxins are hardly new topics for Grahame; his strength has always been how he marries the sour with the sweet, how he conjures seemingly effortlessly, exquisitely-crafted songs, bereft of any fat, getting in and then out in as little time as possible. The long fade has never been part of Grahame's bag of tricks; nor has the long, drawn out solo or the endlessly repetitive chorus that easily wears out its welcome after two minutes of play. Grahame is a master at making every note, and word, count, and never belaboring the point of it all.

Take "Mary Always Knows," one of three extraordinary songs that form the core of this extraordinary album. In just two minutes and 21 seconds, over a luscious acoustic guitar track, a close-miked Grahame directs those with a lack of grasp on "the lies of youth" to go to Mary, who "always knows the truth." Mary, "the best deal out there," has all the answers, alright, but don't look for some leggy blonde or matronly librarian to spill the beans: Mary could be a girl, or just about anything really, that lets loose the lowdown on life's travails.

In "My Lucky Day," the narrator looks back to his youth and flash forwards to the present that is full of the dark and the bleak and the broken promises of days long past, admitting that he is "a train on time, I'm a new sunrise, There is nowhere else to go but tomorrow's got to be my lucky day." You can hear his heart breaking, coming to the realizations that manifest themselves with growing up and find one's place in the world; Grahame's arrangement is full of hope, with rich harmonies in the choruses providing the sweet tinge to the somewhat sour outlook on display.

"Milk Carton Ad," the third core song, is endlessly clever, both lyrically and musically, in its depiction of a person who seeks to disappear, to check out from his life and move away from his problems. "Throwing in the towel," he sings, "Feeling weak, This'll be my hour, so to speak." With that, the person withdraws, his legacy being his photo appearing on milk cartons, a lost soul. His admission is heartbreakingly sad: "Come tomorrow I will not be here, I will be gone. You can kick, you can cry, from a milk carton ad I'll say goodbye. Has anybody seen me?" Grahame's best song among more best songs than a flock of artists can claim in a career, this one will have you at your knees, feeling weak...so to speak.

It feels strange reviewing a David Grahame album, having co-produced all of his previous releases, save for The Power Station Sessions; now, instead of being on the inside looking out, I am on the outside looking in. Although well before this album arrived, I heard a few roughs (one of which became "I'm Gonna Miss You") and early versions of five other songs, I had no input into the making of this record. In fact, its emergence, when I wasn't sure if Grahame would ever make another record, surprised me; when a review copy hit my mailbox, I eagerly played it, and immediately loved it.

That's the way it goes with David Grahame albums; through it all, he remains my favorite artist, because he speaks to me in ways that I cannot make clear; because he has soaked up most of the same influences that I have; but mostly, mostly, because he is able to craft genuinely affecting songs that can be enjoyed on many different levels. Playing all the instruments seems like a daunting task, but Grahame handles it with great ease, writing and recording quickly to capture the moment before it slips away.

The moments captured on Eric invoke all the feelings that souls can conjure; certainly pain and loss and supposed hopelessness are evident, but so are hopefulness and the promise of happiness. The opener, "Out of This World," is relentlessly happy, as it channels the best of McCartneyisms and Beatles nods. Here, a woman is a man's savior, "simply out of this world." But it's all about context: Is she this man's savior, or, perhaps, his escape hatch?

The deceptively simple, bluesy, vibes-tinged "The Loneliest Boy," accented by soothing jazz guitar lines, states its CV simply: "I'm the loneliest boy in the universe, I am lonely, yes I am." I could go on, but I'll save the rest of this album's pleasures for your ears, including the marvelous "Fly," with is catchy chorus, and the album closer, "What Everyone Should Know," in which a man looks back on a relationship now ended, benefiting the listener with the realization that, should you find yourself in the same position, you will have learned "what everyone should know, who falls in love." I'd like to think the lesson learned is how to make things right next time, but there is a sadness in this lyric, so perhaps it's a case of too little learned too late, but hopefully not.

An artist continually growing in his craft, David Grahame has made the album of his career, one that belongs not simply in every music fan's collection, but also in every keen observer's "life's lessons learned" arsenal. If your path, your journey through the days and nights, has crossed with the yin and yang of it all, this is the album for you.

I can imagine the narrators of these songs wishing to hop into the toy plane pictured so innocently on Grahame's first album, hoping to escape to a better life, but the major lesson learned here has to be, must be, that the best escape is to real life, not to some unnamed, far away place. The best escape is to the here and now, where rewards are tangible and emerge from beating hearts. That is what is evident for me, at least, listening to Eric, an exquisite collection of songs, a marvel, punctuated by jangly guitars, insightful, expressive vocals, music that will touch your heart, and an artist working at the peak of his considerable powers. You can ask for more from a record, but you won't get it.

Alan Haber
October 27, 2004