Single/Video Review: "September" by Corb Lund

Songwriter: Corb Lund

Corb Lund is a successful singer-songwriter from Canada that most Americans have probably never heard of. I have frequently heard his name thrown around and remember seeing a few of his music videos on CMT back in the days of my youth, but I have never given one of his albums a thorough listen. "September" is such a beautifully haunting song, however, that I am more than persuaded to purchase his latest album, Cabin Fever, and embark on that musical journey.

"September" plays upon the classic theme of country-boy-pining-for-city-girl (in this case, a country girl who who decides to become a city girl), but it contains a melancholy and a desolation that plumbs deep below surface cliches and allows the listener to really feel the anguish and pain buried in the narrator's heart. He, the struggling cattle farmer staying behind, she, the woman he loves moving to New York City to perhaps chase a long held dream. In a way, he can't really blame her for leaving. In the quiet country "there ain't much to do," "there ain't much glamor," and "the pace is kinda slow," after all. But he is certain that no one in New York City could need her as much as he does. "Stay with me through September," he begs.

He's also certain that she is going to regret trading the wide open country for the cramped and crowded city; well, maybe not certain, but pretty damn sure, or at least he's telling himself she'll miss this way of life just to ease a little bit of the pain. There is more than a little sarcasm in the line:

I can picture how you're livin'
In a tiny fourth floor flat
Well there's times that a thousand acres and the Rocky Mountains 
Can't compete with that

Imbedded in Lund's delivery of the line is sadness mixed with an almost have-it-your-way disbelief.

My favorite part of the song is the part without words, where Lund sings "oooos" with an emotional heft that betrays an immense and piercing loneliness, as if singing the very siren song of the relationship in just those few notes. It sounds like a mix between Chris Martin's (of Coldplay) falsetto and a modern twist on a high and lonesome yodel, echoing in the valleys of the mountains he sings about, conjuring up the image of a man standing by himself in a vast and wide open space. Totally free but utterly trapped. It makes the loneliness of the narrator more than palpable. How fitting that loneliness in real life often leaves us struggling to express the feeling in words.

Regarding the music video for "September," this, my friends, is how you make one. It intersperses grand images of mountains with close-ups of Lund's face and the sadness and bitterness and regret that is written all over it (his "acting" in the video makes me think he has probably lived this song). Toward the end of the clip, when the only person we've seen thus far is Lund, we see a woman walking around, presumably a ghost of the love that is long gone away. Her memory will forever inhabit the mind of the one she left as well as the hills and valleys that she once called home with him. The video is directed by Trevor Smith with an eye for both the beauty and bleakness of nature and with a perfect understanding of the emotional journey of this heartbroken cattle farmer.

It's not often that a piece of music and its accompanying video compliment one another so seamlessly, but with "September" the case is made not only for the power of authentically sad country music, but for the relevance of music videos in the modern musical era, when music channels rarely play them anymore. It's indeed one of the most beautiful songs of the year accompanied by the most beautiful music video of the year, a video that helps one delve deeper into the emotional heart of the song.

I can't wait to dive into Cabin Fever.

10/10

"Alabama Pines" - New music video from Jason Isbell & the 400 Unit

"Alabama Pines" is the first cut on Jason Isbell & the 400 Unit's latest release Here We Rest; it's a song that sets the tone of the album, letting the listener know they're in for a little less rock-heavy experience than with the self-titled collection that came before, and are instead about to embark on a musical journey influenced more by the rapidly growing and distinctive sound of the Americana "movement." The change toward more acoustic arrangements seems natural and suits Isbell and the band quite well (the album does still maintain some heavier moments). One example is the beautiful fiddle line that eases it's way through "Alabama Pines" like a train gliding down a straightaway track. As a nice compliment to the song, the music video is testament to the blessings and struggles of road life, where at times one can feel like they're living the dream or at times feel like an isolated rambler.

Any music lover, especially one who likes to write about music, enjoys a good song about life on the road. Many of us are failed musicians ourselves, or simply smart enough to realize that we just don't got what it takes, namely a healthy dose of musical talent. So we get to live vicariously through our favorite artists and dream about both the good the and bad of life on rolling wheels -- living it up, drinking it up, pushing through the eventual piercing loneliness and isolation the road seems determined to drive you to, longing for the familiarity and comfort of home. "Alabama Pines" seems to speak to that feeling and captures it well.

The road can ultimately be great; after all, you're getting to share your music with people who (usually) want to hear it, people who pay money specifically so they can come see you play, either because you had a song or an album or multiple albums that made them think "thank God I'm not the only one" or made them feel...something. Alive, hopefully. But as the song says, sleeping in hotels without air conditioning, traveling for hours a day, the repetition of lonely Sunday afternoons where you "can't stand the pain of being by yourself without a little help" from some good liquor, probably tend to take their wear on person.

In the video Isbell is shown playing his guitar (and drinking) alone in a motel room, the one the narrator moves into at the beginning of the song for one reason or another: he got a job in a new town and hasn't found permanent residence yet, he likes the anonymity of staying at a place where people are always coming and going, or maybe he's running from home -- from a girl, from his youth, from the monotony -- only to find himself missing it like hell when he's gone. The motel room footage is combined with him driving the open highway in a classic convertible, smoking cigarettes, staring at a weary face in the mirror, and performing with the rest of the band at a hole-in-the-wall club. At one point a little girl gives him a drawing of herself as a stick figure smiling under a rainbow, surely a sign of the innocence that is lost as we become adults living in the "real world," but perhaps is also a way of saying we need to recapture a least a little bit of that innocence if we're going to make it, or at least remain hopeful about making it.

It's a great song and a great video. Potently matter of fact lyrics really bring the theme of isolation home: "No one gives a damn about the things I give a damn about" and "I needed that damn woman like a dream needs gasoline." It's a shame Isbell isn't more well-known as he has one of the best voices in music today, and he and the 400 Unit are crafting some mighty fine country songs full of heart and authenticity. I can almost smell those pines.

Side note: Isbell and the band are making their first national TV appearance on Letterman tonight. I'm sure they're glad for the exposure, as am I.