There are few things I enjoy more musically than a well-crafted album that’s difficult to categorize. There’s something both immediate and timeless about Roland Pearsall’s album Sell Your Soul, released earlier this year. On one level, it bears a 60’s garage rock aesthetic, but with a decidedly modern touch to some of the lyrics and with the perspective of being half a century past the era it draws from.
Immediate standouts are the title song, “Sell Your Soul” that brings to mind British Invasion pep. It’s lyrics remind me of the wit of overlooked Brit troubadour John Wesley Harding which is more of compliment than you probably realize. Likewise, the second track has vaguely menacing lyrics and buzzy soundscape of mid-sixties rockers The Animals. Both songs are excellent but Pearsall and his band have more tricks, and influences, to trundle out and share. Like the electric surf-tinged grove of “Riding On”
As an aside, it’s unfortunate that at least on the digital version of the album, there is no mention of who his other band members are, because they provide a really solid back up. Love the harmonies and the organ in particular.
But forget that. Let’s take a moment to appreciate Pearsall’s voice. He has a strong baritone capable of soaring to a passionate wail that can raise the dead on the track “In the Night.” I swear this sinister gem was ripped directly from the sixties and the original artist murdered and dumped in a gully never to be seen again. It oozes with character and is quite possibly my favorite song on the album. When he lets it rip, holy shit, he lets it rip. Take my word and play this one loud and frighten the neighbors.
Also, whenever that organ kicks in (as in “Next to You” or the psychedelic rocker “Aerosol Can”), I get a smile as wide as the ocean. It’s a personal thing. Having grown up playing the piano, it’s nice to hear someone on the keys bringing the rock.
If this album stumbles it’s in some of the more down-temp numbers. “The Way That I’ve Come” for instance is technically well done, it just didn’t grab me. And “Fog Country,” has great lyrics, I mean, really great lyrics. But while the bluesy ramble of the melody suits it well, I found myself just waiting for the next rocker. That said, an album full of rockers gets tired as hell (coughAC/DCcough), so bravo for showing us a range.
Pretty much without exception, Pearsall and his band swagger through the album with confidence. I imagine big hair, velvet pantsuits with wide collars, maybe leather pants and a puffy paisley shirt. I imagine a cocky sneer, wit, and energy. Ignore the picture of the shaggy-headed singer/songwriter on the cover. I’m certain it’s a filthy lie to avoid scaring someone’s grandparents. I know what I hear on this album.
I also imagine he puts on a hell of a live show that I am unlikely to witness myself as Roland Pearsall is Boston-based and I’m anchored firmly in the graveyard of grunge in Seattle. If you catch him live, hit me back and tell me what you think.
As for Sell Your Soul, you can check it out on his Bandcamp site for yourself, or, you can trust your Unka Nate and just buy the damn thing for under $10. It’s well worth the investment. No selling of souls required.
Tales from the Ragged Edge 