© Adam Granger
The African elephant has a gestation period of two years. If John Whitehead were a female African elephant, he—which is to say she—could have had three little elephettes in the time it took her—which is to say him—to make this album. Lengthy gestation neither confirms nor condemns an album's quality, so you'll have to read on.
Whitehead is no stranger to our music community: He is and has been a member of a number of MBOTMA bands and, via his career in the film and video field, produced an important folkumentary on the legendary cajun/western swing band The Hackberry Ramblers. He's currently producing a film on Grammy winners The Carolina Chocolate Drops. (He also was behind the camera for two interviews I conducted with the ailing but still remarkable Bill Hinkley a few years back).
My Father's Hat contains ten original songs. As one who likes variety, I'm happy to say that the collection reflects the eclectic nature of John's life. He draws from slates both of known and unknown—to me, at least—local talent to help him. Producer/musician/engineer David Hedding is a pervasive presence, playing several instruments and singing harmony, and Deb Carlson lends her drop-dead gorgeous voice to five of the cuts; fiddle, banjo, bass, drums, organ, mandolin, synth bass and a murder of guitars complete Whitehead's cohort. John explains that he “wanted each song to have its own sonic landscape,” and in this effort he has succeeded: My Father's Hat is a musical cartographer's playground. A brief glance at the terrain:
Maybe This Time is a poignant anthem of reflection and, the singer hopes, progress: Gonna find out baby/If this thing can really fly/Get the wheels up off the ground/Point the nose up to the sky. . . .
Tilt-A-Whirl is a pastiche of carnival imagery, presented over a hazy carousel groove, dreamy, but not so dreamy as to be without wit: A mullet-haired boy in line with his goth-eyed girl/They're buying tickets on the Tilt-A-Whirl. (And, of course, it's nice to give the Minnesota-made midway classic a little nod).
And the Creek Don't Rise will make bluegrassers (and others with high standards) happy and, for you jackpine savages and jazzy cosmonauts out there (you know who you are), it's got a big old fat independent streak running down its back. Whitehead makes it clear here that he “march[es] to a drummer in a hillbilly band.”
Ah, but the good times have to end, and, in the bluesy rocker Original Sin, the singer laments his abandonment and, even more, his subsequent dis-abandonment: Now you've come back again/Back to where you started and your original sin. This one is nice and greasy.
In The Land of My Dreams, Whitehead ponders what might have been. It's a place most of us have been: If I'd known you in some other country/At a time when our two hearts were free. . . .
Every good album has selections that grow on you. Slide is one such for me: Its refrain, beautifully harmonized by Carlson, is a complete surprise and is—sorry for the word—catchy. It's actually a dusky song of self-absorption, but I didn't pay any attention to that because I was too busy thinking about how the song related to ME.
Pygmy Bone is built upon real and fictive non sequitur, with Whitehead concluding that what goes on in his mind makes about as much sense as what goes on in the real world. Saw a mountain goat sail a Viking boat/Heard the sound of wheels and the bark of seals. . . .
And now comes the eponymous My Father's Hat—the hat he wears on the album's cover--and the landscape shifts to mid-20th-century swing. This song's got a great feel and lyrics, but I ain't gonna quote anything from it; you've gotta buy the album.
It's Snowing All over the World is both my wife's and my favorite song. It's recorded beautifully, opening with Whitehead playing a jangly, distorted, carol-esque descending scale over an easygoing but not apathetic rhythm bed. And the imagery is terrific.
Finally, we're sitting on the front porch at twilight with a glass of whatever and our S/O, having a gently frank but by no means unaffectionate conversation about our life together, and we're Still Lovin' Enough: Love ain't nothing like a movie show/Where it all gets settled 'fore the credits roll/It's more like a river that twists and bends/And there ain't no map showin' where it ends.
All right, I'm out of space. Here's my short-but-sweet conclusion: Dear John, My Father's Hat is a fine album, and you, and all those who helped you, should be proud. Now go make another one.
Whitehead is no stranger to our music community: He is and has been a member of a number of MBOTMA bands and, via his career in the film and video field, produced an important folkumentary on the legendary cajun/western swing band The Hackberry Ramblers. He's currently producing a film on Grammy winners The Carolina Chocolate Drops. (He also was behind the camera for two interviews I conducted with the ailing but still remarkable Bill Hinkley a few years back).
My Father's Hat contains ten original songs. As one who likes variety, I'm happy to say that the collection reflects the eclectic nature of John's life. He draws from slates both of known and unknown—to me, at least—local talent to help him. Producer/musician/engineer David Hedding is a pervasive presence, playing several instruments and singing harmony, and Deb Carlson lends her drop-dead gorgeous voice to five of the cuts; fiddle, banjo, bass, drums, organ, mandolin, synth bass and a murder of guitars complete Whitehead's cohort. John explains that he “wanted each song to have its own sonic landscape,” and in this effort he has succeeded: My Father's Hat is a musical cartographer's playground. A brief glance at the terrain:
Maybe This Time is a poignant anthem of reflection and, the singer hopes, progress: Gonna find out baby/If this thing can really fly/Get the wheels up off the ground/Point the nose up to the sky. . . .
Tilt-A-Whirl is a pastiche of carnival imagery, presented over a hazy carousel groove, dreamy, but not so dreamy as to be without wit: A mullet-haired boy in line with his goth-eyed girl/They're buying tickets on the Tilt-A-Whirl. (And, of course, it's nice to give the Minnesota-made midway classic a little nod).
And the Creek Don't Rise will make bluegrassers (and others with high standards) happy and, for you jackpine savages and jazzy cosmonauts out there (you know who you are), it's got a big old fat independent streak running down its back. Whitehead makes it clear here that he “march[es] to a drummer in a hillbilly band.”
Ah, but the good times have to end, and, in the bluesy rocker Original Sin, the singer laments his abandonment and, even more, his subsequent dis-abandonment: Now you've come back again/Back to where you started and your original sin. This one is nice and greasy.
In The Land of My Dreams, Whitehead ponders what might have been. It's a place most of us have been: If I'd known you in some other country/At a time when our two hearts were free. . . .
Every good album has selections that grow on you. Slide is one such for me: Its refrain, beautifully harmonized by Carlson, is a complete surprise and is—sorry for the word—catchy. It's actually a dusky song of self-absorption, but I didn't pay any attention to that because I was too busy thinking about how the song related to ME.
Pygmy Bone is built upon real and fictive non sequitur, with Whitehead concluding that what goes on in his mind makes about as much sense as what goes on in the real world. Saw a mountain goat sail a Viking boat/Heard the sound of wheels and the bark of seals. . . .
And now comes the eponymous My Father's Hat—the hat he wears on the album's cover--and the landscape shifts to mid-20th-century swing. This song's got a great feel and lyrics, but I ain't gonna quote anything from it; you've gotta buy the album.
It's Snowing All over the World is both my wife's and my favorite song. It's recorded beautifully, opening with Whitehead playing a jangly, distorted, carol-esque descending scale over an easygoing but not apathetic rhythm bed. And the imagery is terrific.
Finally, we're sitting on the front porch at twilight with a glass of whatever and our S/O, having a gently frank but by no means unaffectionate conversation about our life together, and we're Still Lovin' Enough: Love ain't nothing like a movie show/Where it all gets settled 'fore the credits roll/It's more like a river that twists and bends/And there ain't no map showin' where it ends.
All right, I'm out of space. Here's my short-but-sweet conclusion: Dear John, My Father's Hat is a fine album, and you, and all those who helped you, should be proud. Now go make another one.
