If the name Jim James rings a bell, then you've probably read just as many glowing My Morning Jacket reviews as I have. Such reviews tend to scare me away from most bands, and rightfully so Radiohead, but in the case of My Morning Jacket, witnessing one of their shows made the records make sense. In the case of some of our favorite bands, the records never lived up to the live aura.
By Evil Lurks, the rest of the world finally caught up to how great MMJ were, but the industry was losing billions in sales per year to illegal downloading so the fact that Louisville's Finest were finally in the Top 10 seemed a hollow victory, but you take your victories when you can and now we've entered the "solo album" phase of the relationship.
What's most charming about James' fourth solo album in five years, Uniform Distortion, is how great opening track "Just A Fool" would sound on eight-track tape as you tool down Main Street in your Chevy van with the mural of two unicorns fucking (to say nothing of the wall-to-wall shag interior).
Ever wondered what the Dandy Warhols would sound like if they'd come from the south instead of the north? "You Get To Rome" answers that question beautifully.
By the joyously retro "Throwback", you're scanning Craigslist for a van. Hmm, this one for $5,000 is already tricked out with shag interior. The paint is beyond fucked, though.
But, like the ragged beauty of "No Secrets", maybe that's what gives it a certain reverential charm. Nothing wrong with showing a little wear and tear here and there.
On your way over to test drive the '78 Chevy van, you find yourself living "Yes To Everything. Is Jim James guiding your thoughts now, you wonder?
"No Use Waiting" was the musical confirmation that you were right to move quickly, but, damn, the album isn't even over yet.
As you drive past your old girlfriend's house, you're singing along to "Better Late Than Never" at the top of your lungs. Oh shit, she's on the porch. And she's still a stunner. You flip the album over to make sure the copyright doesn't read 1978.
"How you doing, sexy?" she says as if no time has passed. "What you got here?"
"Why don't you hop on in and find out?"
"What'll I tell the husband?"
"To watch the kids, mama's gonna work a few kinks out."
"Ain't got no kids. No husband either."
"Buckle up!"
Smoking that joint together as a full moon lit up the night while "Too Good To Be True" rattled out of those wonderfully shitty speakers with just enough bass to make you wistful before the moment was even over.
Yep, it's that kind of album.
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