Steep Canyon Rangers w/ Buncombe Turnpike
Saturday, Jan. 17, Grey Eagle

2003 was very good to the Steep Canyon Rangers. The Asheville-based band played a slew of shows from Carolina to Colorado and back, built some serious buzz as a Showcase act during October’s IBMA awards in Louisville, and got a chance to open up for local legend Doc Watson in November.

To top it off, they signed with Rebel Records, the legendary Virginia bluegrass label that’s hosted the likes of Ralph Stanley, Del McCoury, and Ricky Skaggs in their 40-year history. Not bad for a bunch of fresh-faced young’uns who, by their own admission, were “terrible” when they first got together as undergrads at UNC-Chapel Hill.

Well, friends, they’re terrible no more. SCR is armed with good pickers (they swept the instrumental awards at the 2002 Mountain State Fair) who know when to play and when to hush. While they give some stringtime to the standards, they’re rightfully proud of their originals. Most are written by banjo man Graham Sharp, who has an ear for detail and a respect for tradition: his songs sound classic themes without descending into cliché or caricature.

“Mr. Taylor’s New Home,” the title track from their last release, is a moving elegy for a man out of time; “Summer’s Gone,” a sensitive season’s-end plinker with slow golden harmonies; “Five More Days” a spirited jailhouse ditty about serving time and, better still, headin‘ home. All are good tunes, and one suspects they’ve got a few more up their collective sleeve: the Rangers are just coming out of a five-week stint in the studio, working towards their Rebel debut in May. Yes, 2003 was very good to the Steep Canyon Rangers. 2004 may be even better.

Opening the show is Buncombe Turnpike, another gang at the top of the local bluegrass heap. (Haywood’s own Tim Adams plucks the Turnpike banjo.) As Asheville two-fers go, this one looks right nice.

The show is scheduled to start at 9 p.m., but I’d call to make sure. While you’re at it, you can ask ‘em how much: 828.232.5800.

My Morning Jacket
Orange Peel, Tuesday, 1/20

I’m going to have to take one of my periodic swims against the critical tide here. Yes, folks, My Morning Jacket is one of those bands everyone else thinks you should see — famous rock critics, the guy at the record store, our own Hunter Pope — but I don’t.

Oh, I know that their latest release, It Still Moves, littered Top 10 lists across the land this year. Yes, I saw that The Oxford American called them “the greatest band in the world.” I’ve read that the modest media stalwart Maxim gave their album five fat stars and labeled it a “Must Buy!”

It seems that being a My Morning Jacket fan has become one of those semi-obscure cultural calling cards, signifying a knowing, hip, and indie-minded vibe... but as badly as I want that vibe as my own, I just can’t take a shine to It Still Moves. (Does that title remind anyone else of a George Costanza line? Just checking.)

The album is a collection of dreamy, drawn-out evanescent emo-country-pop excursions, chock full of glammy art-rock pretensions and hewing close to the central tenets of the Neil Young School of Flaccid Ballads. They’re mournful, fuzzy, sprawling things, they all sound alike, and none of them stick with you two minutes after they’re done.

While I rarely find myself in the position of defending pop, I find that the songs on It Still Moves could stand to have a little more of a pop sensibility, in the best sense of that phrase: a distinct sound, a cleaner vocal mix, a little more attention to melody, perhaps a hook or two you could hang your hat on. Instead we get a series of long, wandering songs that smack of self-indulgence.

I know that music albums are by nature self-indulgent; without that dirty little mix of self-indulgence and ambition, there would be no records in the stores and we would all be sitting on our couches wondering why it was so quiet. But to my ears, My Morning Jacket smacks of the wrong kind of self-indulgence, where misty artistic whims outweigh the needs of the song. (Granted: I myself smack of self-indulgence, and have been known to traffic in misty artistic whims, but at least you’re not paying $12 to read this.)

Perhaps I’m being too harsh; perhaps I need to give it a few more listens; perhaps this will be a great show. But after 12 songs, I can honestly report that frontman Jim James’ voice sent shudders up my spine ... just not the good kind.

The show starts at 9 p.m. and tickets are $12. Asheville’s own Wayne Robbins and the Hellsayers open. Call 828.225.5851 for more info.

Also Playing in Asheville

° Soundtribe Sector 9, Orange Peel, 1/15

° Junior Brown, Orange Peel, 1/16

° Jimmy Landry, Grey Eagle, 1/16

° Pat McLaughlin, Jack of the Wood, 1/17

° Mandorico, Stella Blue, 1/17

Three Good Things

1. Melody

2. Harmony

3. Restraint

They Said It

“Too many pieces of music finish too long after the end.”

— Igor Stravinsky