I do like a good pun, and so a song with the title, “The Maine Thing” is always going to catch my eye. But this is Kevin Driscoll, so, given my enjoyment of his music to date, I’m sure I would have found my way here anyway. I like to think so, at least.
As always, his music is unconventional, at least it is to those wedded to convention, but when has convention ever been more fun than adventure, when have comfort zones ever produced anything that isn’t, well…far too comfortable?
Not that “The Maine Thing” is uncomfortable, quite the opposite, its coiling riff is hypnotic, its spaciousness lets the light in, his voice, that spoken word-sung, lived in sound with all its raspy edges and expressive catches, is compelling. The rootsy sheen, that wandering fiddle (and it is a fiddle rather than a violin when it sounds this earthy) and banjo, or at least banjo-esque, spiral, are grounding. These disparate, slightly off-the-beaten-music-track musical strands come together brilliantly, purposefully ragged sonic threads weaving a homespun sonic design.
Kevin Driscoll doesn’t make music for those who have been tricked into thinking it should sparkle with pop sheen, warble away showing us just how impressive a vocal range they have, or showboat how many notes-per-second they can fire off. No, this is music that is artful and understated, raw and real, authentic and honest. When did we ever not need that in our lives?
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