It must be established, before anything else, that Tom Faulkner is a superb producer. When it comes to applying the right sounds, tones and instruments to his songs, he's on the ball. Even on Lost in the Land of Texico's blandest numbers, he still manages to impress with brilliantly calculated accordion and slide guitar. When that accordion does kick in right after the bridge on the title track, it's hard not to think, "Wow, this guy knows what he's doing" (note: the title track is actually one of the best compositions).
Not even popular enough to procure a Wikipedia entry (this record sells for one dollar), Faulkner's music finds itself dancing between Bruce Springsteen, Steely Dan and Michael Bolton. I say Springsteen because many of the songs are about love for one's homeland-----Faulkner grew up in Texas, but twists the wording to "Texico" because he says the area was so affected by its surroundings. He cleverly sews espanol lyrics into some tracks to accentuate the effect. I say Steely Dan because so much of the music is built on improvisation-----there's always structure, but clearly some of the solos were created on the spot. But where does Bolton finds himself in Faulkner's music? It is in Faulkner's weak voice. A stereotypical southern rough throat is tolerable, but it becomes quickly annoying when the vocalist's weaknesses are exposed in nearly every song. Faulkner too often sounds like he's choking, such as on the River on the Rise. He has difficulty descanting We'll take the trolly up St. Charles; you can almost visualize him pointing to his throat and signalling for the Heimlech. The track's predictable dum-dum, dum-dum, dum-dum strum doesn't add much, either.
You'll actually feel Miss-Cleo-clairvoyance throughout much of this record. Fried Chicken Skin too limpidly echoes the Beatles Yer Blues; even the solos on this one fail to impress (where's Harrison when you need him?). While the lyrics' subject matter at least induces smiles (Faulkner laments that the television informs him I'm not supposed to be eatin' no more friend chicken skin), the affectation has been seen in too many other formats to be successful.
Opener When You Call Upon the Heart evinces the record's lyrical ineptitude. The title should display the rhetoric well enough-----in the chorus, Faulkner sings, When you call upon the heart, it hears every word you say/When you call upon the heart, the answer's just a heart beat away. The song, even with its slowly-growing pop melody, fails to uplift because Faulkner's suggestions are so metaphysically assumptive that they fail to make sense. He's referring to the heart in a spiritual way and declaring that because our physical heart beats, yes, so does our metaphysical heart. Should I really buy into that?
Do not, however, accept this record as a failure. If Faulkner didn't use more adult-contemporary cliches and motivational bullshit than a Chicken Soup-sponsored FM radio station, it would actually be very good. Get Out of Austin, another blues jam, flashes its influences comfortably and still sounds original enough to make your feet tap. Nobody There to Love Me almost sounds as if it was produced by Kenny G, but both Faulkner's vocals and production are sound enough to make it an enjoyable track. Faulkner has plethoric strength as a producer and musician, but needs to evoke more of his own sound.
If you are a mainstream-hating indie-rocker, this will not be your cup of tea. If adult-contemporary is purely your thing, you will probably think this is greater than Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. But even my Lightning-Bolt-blasting-Joanna-Newsom-romancing self can dig the more original tracks on Lost in the Land of Texico. If Faulkner ever provides a more inventive record, I might find myself buying it.
Epinions.com periodically updates pricing and product information from third-party sources, so some information may be slightly out-of-date. You should confirm all information before relying on it.
- Add to My Yahoo!: 
- Add to Google Homepage: 
© 1999-2009 Shopping.com, Inc.