tip of my tongue

I’m generally pretty averse to singer-songwriters; there’s only so much acoustic guitar I can take, and I try to restrict my weekly intake of sorrow and longing to the hefty spate of emo bands I guiltily enjoy. The one huge exception to this rule is Mark Heard.

I first got into Heard when I was 17, right on the cusp of figuring out what kinds of records I liked and what kinds I could do without. In those heady days of late adolescence I came to the ill-figured conclusion that I was only going to listen to records fraught with “meaning” and Heard’s records were like master classes in sincerity and poetry. Though I’ve since firmly renounced this ridiculous decision, there’s still an awful lot about Mark Heard I still find compelling.

We’ve got an awful lot of Mark Heard on eMusic, and not all of it is good; his early records are marred by bad production and unclear vision — he spent a ton of time fooling around with synthesizers, trying to form a more perfect union between Kenny Loggins and Michael McDonald. But his final three records, Dry Bones Dance, Second Hand and, especially, Satellite Sky, find him suddenly, splendidly coming into his own.

On Satellite Sky, Heard works a kind of breakneck rural rock, fusing short, sharp mandolin strumming with rocketing percussion and broad, warm acoustic guitar. It sounds like the Arizona desert: huge and dry and endless (in this context, all good things). His voice is cracked and parched, too — it threatens to snap in half on the chorus of “Tip of My Tongue.” It’s that stretch and reach that gives the songs such a deep sense of urgency.

But the main attraction remains Heard’s lyrics. On this last cluster of records, Heard seemed to perfect the art of describing mundane things in profound ways. On Second Hand he fixated on the every day — “Nod Over Coffee” is still one of the best descriptions of a stagnating relationship I’ve ever heard, and “Another Good Lie” smartly dismantles every great myth parents hand down to children. On Satellite Sky, his concerns get more existential; “Orphans of God” considers a race abandoned by its creator, suggesting a world that’s cold and purposeless.

If you skew mainly towards, say, metal or indiepop or electronic music this is probably not going to do a damn thing for you. But anyone who’s into M. Ward or Calexico or Josh Ritter is going to find a lot here to love.

Heard died in 1992 of a heart attack following his performance at the Cornerstone Festival in Illinois, never having gained more than a miniscule cult of fans. His arrival at eMusic is like the return of an old friend, one I haven’t seen in a good ten or eleven years. I’m relieved to discover the years haven’t changed him a bit.

A few other titles worthy of mention —
Sifting through the reggae titles on eMusic can be a bit of a haystack hunt. It’s often hard to tell from cover art which is going to be sweet, deep roots music and which is going to be a festival of wedding band Korg rock. In the last few days, though, there’s been a trickling of quality titles.

DJ Explosion and Big Joe at the Control both lean toward the dubbier end of things, manic DJ improvs flying over blown-out bass parts and sporadic surges of guitar. Some people may complain that these are clearly just lifted from LPs — you can hear the vinyl popping in the background — but personally, I can’t think of any way I’d rather hear them.

Also amazing, Conversation Stylee, which features 15 different DJs toasting over the same classic riddim (you might not want to listen to this from start to finish without some, uh, “additional materials”). Barry Brown’s Step it Up Youthman is gorgeous slow-burn reggae of the old style, sweet high vocals and deep, soulful thunk. And from the Makasound label, Leroy Brown’s Color Barrier. It’s a bit newer than the other titles and a bit brighter, too, but Brown’s voice is gorgeous, and the tunes are as crisp and lively as a summer afternoon.

And a final two that don’t fit either of the above categories: The Pastels’ marvelous Truckload of Trouble compilation gathers up their rowdiest moments. The Pastels have influenced everyone from Belle & Sebastian to Camera Obscura, and you can pick up hints of both of those bands in these giddy little masterpieces Every song on here is a gem, all of them pitting shy vocals against storming guitars. If you want to figure out if this is for you, check out “Truck Train Tractor,” arguably their finest hour.

And finally, Windmills By the Ocean. I downloaded this because I thought it was going to be black metal, but it’s not — not quite. It’s instead a kind of suffocating instrumental rock, huge stoner guitars crashing down all over the place, over and over again. “Untitled 3″ sounds like it could have been recorded for Jade Tree during the heyday, while the mammoth “Untitled 4″ just lurches and crawls for close to ten minutes.