Every so often, I open my home up for house shows. Over the last few years, we've hosted everything from hardcore to indie rock to drone electronica. But my neighbors like it best when we do stripped-down acoustic shows.
A few weeks ago, a singer-songwriter friend of mine reached out. He was touring with some other singer-songwriter friends of his from Michigan and was wondering if they might be able to stop at my house for a show. I don't listen to a ton of stripped-down singer-songwriters these days, but I'm always glad to extend hospitality to musicians on the road.
One of those singer-songwriters was JD Wright, a singer/songwriter from Detroit who grew up in a small coastal town overrun with tourists—experiences that informed most of his songs.
And as he played alone and unamplified in my living room, that sort of small-town disillusionment was the loudest part of his performance. His hushed, delicate tenor warbled over his mostly fingerpicked acoustic guitar parts.
But on Lake Effect, his debut record, he’s joined by a full band that puts some volume to his disenchantment—and with excellent results.
With the power of a rock and roll band behind him, JD transforms from a humble folk singer into an Americana powerhouse. The most obvious comparisons are guys like Tom Petty and Jackson Browne, mostly due to the sophistication of the arrangements and his effortless lyricism.
His lyrics paint evocative pictures of his life. Childhood friends goading each other into swimming in ice-cold water, a beachside town being completely emptied through the winter months, late night conversations where you can't quite get the words right, the rusting shell of Detroit. It's pretty by the book folk-rock fare, but there's no mistaking his authenticity. And in a genre where so many artists sound like they're just putting generic lyrics to made-for-YouTube, royalty-free music, JD is incredibly fresh.
But buried deep beneath the woodsy, highway-worn folk rock and his slight drawl, you get the sense that JD learned how to play guitar by playing along with the Clash and the Descendants. Beneath all the swung rhythms, acoustic fingerpicking, and slide guitars, there’s a raggedness that’s distinctively punk. And I don't just mean the big, staccato chord hits of " The Big Lake," although that could be a pretty convincing pop punk song at a faster tempo and some power chords. Even the more traditional folk-rock tunes are rife with a punk energy that's hard to describe but impossible to ignore.
It makes perfect sense: despite their sonic disparateness, folk and punk have similar souls. Both share a fierce DIY ethos and are commonly used as vehicles for dissent. Punk bands have been trying to recapture the devil-may-care aesthetic of a young Bob Dylan ever since the Ramones posed against an alley wall. Even Springsteen could have been a punk hero if he showed up a few years later and played a little faster (remember that next time you hear someone deride him as “dad rock”). Besides, what's more punk rock than a protest song so ironic that Ronald Reagan used it on the campaign trail?
And while Lake Effect might not overtly sound like punk, its scrappy attitude permeates every groove. It's very similar to the energy of the tattoo-covered, country-tinged Ryan Adams without ever sounding like an attempt to rewrite his classic Heartbreaker—and I know that better than most, because in a past life I was a singer-songwriter trying to rewrite Heartbreaker.
Through every memory of stupid college friends, abandoned beach towns, and personal regret, JD sounds like he’s wavering between starting a fistfight or collapsing in existential exhaustion. The instrumentation follows suit, vacillating between crashing chords, fiery electric guitar solos, and fragile fingerpicking.
In the same way, JD feels a bit like he's a man without belonging. He has threads tieing him to various anchor points, but they are all too tenuous to keep him from drifting off. He talks about his hometown disparagingly, but he longs for its familiarity. He's moved to the city, but he can't find a home in it. He has a restlessness that begs to hit the road, but he keeps glancing into his rearview mirror. He's long since lost his faith, but he can't escape a prayerful longing.
Despite this wavering, Lake Effect plays with a self-confidence and assuredness that can't be faked. Every word, drum hit, and guitar solo is delivered with a surety that is usually reserved for veteran artists. The arrangements are all pitch-perfect, capturing the nuances of his mood with laser focus. If there are any flaws with the record at all, they're on the technical side. The mix is sometimes a bit dull, sapping some of the power from the band. But such is the way of the DIY scene. And having been in the DIY scene long enough to remember when bands passed around warped copies of their four-track demos on cassette, I can certainly forgive a less-than-perfect mix. Especially on the debut record of a singer-songwriter passing through my living room.
And while this may be Wright’s debut record, it plays with a sophistication and clarity of vision that many artists don’t reach until much further in their career. I’ll certainly be paying attention. And JD, if you need a spot in South Bend on your next tour, my living room is open.