Shakey Graves: ManD of the Week

I met a young man last night who challenged my hardened bartendress sentiments regarding dudes all alone onstage with naught save an acoustic guitar and a sheepish grin. In case you don't work in a divey rock club which frequently hosts...forgive me-forgettable acts, the sight of yet another singer songwriter with embarrassing lyrics is almost always a bummer.

I know! Shame on me, married to a piano player, struggling with my own creative endeavors, who am I to scoff at people striving for their art? Underpaid, cheap beer drinking, gear lugging poets just trying to pour a little of their heart on you. I get it, but unfortunately for life, 99 percent of the ones who make it through my door are intolerable and cringe worthy. All this vinegar to actually share with you something grand. A rare find lo-fi hobo magic gem of a songbird says I.

Alejandro Rose Garcia I believe was born with a guitar in his hand. He has that elusive quality when performing that makes you feel like he's not doing it for the crowd at all, but doing it compulsively for the sheer pleasure of music and would do it just the same in the bed of a pickup truck as in a stacked arena. I've only gotten a similar impression from old footage of Billie Holiday and more recently from a young singer/violinist named Ruby Jane. It's a dem fine treat when you can get it.

I am the last person to be able to describe what music sounds like, but I will say that Shakey Graves feels like all the best parts of Texas. Makes you want to hop trains, dance with loud boots, holler at a campfire with all of your cousins, drape yourself over a raft in the river, cuddle up with a coffeecup, your sweetheart and porchful of fireflies, or just laugh and laugh over a corncob pipe and a jar of bathtub moonshine.

That sounds overly fanciful but it was so refreshing to shake off the scales of my cynicism and really just love some songs again. With his textured voice, lovely melodies, satisfying lyrics and one legged bass drum percussion it needs no frills. Drum machines, electric guitar, bandmates, all completely unnecessary. Actually the very idea of adding anything is slightly appalling.

Tempting as it is to keep a find like this to myself, I'm pretty sure Hollywood will snap him up within the year and try to steal his soul, so catch him while you still have a chance, slap him on the back and buy him a tecate. He has fresh old Texas ballads on his digital album Roll the Bones for a donation of your choice here.