This disc didn't grab me at first listen.  I was feeling dubious about it, but as the music sank in and the lyrics started to come clear, I began to realize just how subtle, how marvelous, this young Scott Gibson is.

By the 4th track I was starting to really take notice; by the 6th, I was hooked.  The second listen through, it all hit me.  This Texas-born boy knows how to write a good song, and he sings mighty nice, too.  It's really good listening, and I'm not sure if I was just sleeping the first time I played it, or what, but this is one fine, fine new disc, a debut for Scott on his new label, Brazos River Records (through Hayden's Ferry).

Every song on this disc was written by Scott.  His cool, clean-lined  voice takes effortless lead when he sings them.  He plays bass -- now how cool is that?  How many bass players can you name who are the front man? He  has some awesome pickers backing him, including Chris Gage on mandolin,  accordion, and guitars; Robbie Gjersoe on dobro, lap steel, and guitars; David Abeyta; Paul LeMond; Rafael Gayol; and Mac McNabb -- veterans of groups from The Flatlanders to Reckless Kelly.  Gibson's played all the right places in Austin to allow him the chance to dip into this talent pool,  and he does not come up short.       

During that first listen when I was apparently sleeping, the song that woke me up and made me realize this disc deserved a more attentive listen was "Ballad of the Balladeer (Saturday Night)."  With an even-handed  alt-country beat, this song dug in and wouldn't let go of me "I'm one of six  or seven people here/ For the eight o' clock slot/ A solo desperado is up there/ Playin' his guitar/ And he just calls it like he sees it/ And sings out to an empty bar 'cause who.../ Who wants to hear the truth/ On Saturday night/ Yeah who,/ Who wants to hear the truth/ On Saturday night?"        

Wow.  I backed up and listened to the song again.  Gibson's singing  to a lot of those troubadours I've gone to see and sat in empty bars  cheering.  Those guys who give their all to a room of five or six music lovers who aren't paying $100 a seat to pack into an arena and scream over  some faux-cowboy's Made-By-Gold's hardbody, those folks who would rather be  in that little bar hearing the real thing, listening to the "truth on  Saturday night."  I got the feeling from this one that Gibson's been there,  on both sides of the step-up stage, the guy with the beer in the audience and the troubadour on the stage.

At that point, I started paying more attention.  I got "into" the  sound.  I really listened to a gentle, laidback tenor voice with that
slight  rasp of an Americana singer who's spent a few too many hours in a smoky bar. I heard lyrics that blew me away, like "In the aftermath/ Of a sonic boom/  hear Etta James/ In the other room/ You know all the words/ Maybe a little  too well/ We used to walk in the clouds/ I guess I stumbled and fell" in  "Put Away The Blues."  Or the infectious melody of "Sunday Social," with  Cage and Gjersoe on guitars, mandolin, and dobro, just to the West of  Appalachia:   "Everybody's goin' hog wild/ A celebration for a new child/  South of town - outside of Kyle/ Everybody wears a big smile/ Both sides of  the family tree/ Gettin' together like it used to be/ Before the city or the  TV/ Might have to start us up a quiltin' bee."  The story stanzas are just  like getting to go to a real family gathering.  My favorite track isn't so  big on the words, largely because I don't know what "Kripalu" means (apart  from a style of yoga, but that doesn't seem to exactly fit here), but I just  adore the song.  It takes me places in my mind, with its distinctive  Southwestern feel, and words that might have to do with gathering of yoga  students, a tent revival, or maybe just a street festival.       

Gibson closes his disc with what's probably his most powerful song,  "The Hardest Part of Hurtin' (Is The Hope)."  His voice roughens, gentle  acoustic guitar and a trace of lap steel is all the accompaniment.  It's a  strong song, an attention-grabber.  "Misery will cloak you/ Like a blanket/ When you're lyin'/ All naked and exposed/ It ain't somethin'/ Worn so much/ For the warmth/ As just for somethin'/ For coverin' up/ The cold."     

Texas music has another great musician in its ranks here.  Make ready, his star's on the rise.

Kathy Coleman TakeCountryBack August 2003