Nels Andrews
Sunday Shoes
Little Kiss Records (no serial #)
By Bonny Holder
 I had never heard
of Nels Andrews until I opened the brown bubble-wrap. I had
no idea that he lives in my hometown of Albuquerque (as do the
Handsome Family, and I've never seen them play.) It is the cover
of the CD that makes me pick it up. There is a photo of a beat-up
pair of black "dress shoes,"-- old, frayed at the heels,
with a genteel elegance. The shoes sit emptily beside a battered
wooden plank platform. The scene is bathed in a clear yellow
light, the color of the autumn desert just before twilight.
"Good cover," I think. That means there is thought
given to the presentation, and that's important.
Even though I notice that the first song on Sunday Shoes
is entitled "Central Avenue Romance," and knowing full
well that Central Avenue, which is also the old Route 66, provides
the different between north Albuquerque, and south Albuquerque,
I still don't snap. A glance at the band photo instantly endears
me to them. Wow, I think, four men and one woman, all wearing
old baggy parkas and strange fur hats. Where in the world are
they from Dakota? What weird place and landscape produces
such disregard for anything like fashion?
Drum roll.
I've been looking for a musician/band to connect with here
in Albuquerque for almost twenty years. I don't mean enjoy,
because I have enjoyed most of the music I've heard since I've
lived here. But I've never made the jump to a simpatico
connection with any musician here, not like I have in Austin.
I just figured it wasn't gonna happen.
Enter Nels Andrews, a long-time resident of Taos now living
in the metropolis of central New Mexico. I am much too fortunate!
There is nothing I don't like about Sunday Shoes.
The songs are wonderfully crafted by Andrews (who won 2002 Kerrville
Newfolk Award, as well as the Best Folk/Americana Band in the
2002 New Mexico Showcase), and the production is spare enough
to perfectly accentuate Andrews' vocals.
The best songs, for me, are those that first provoke a visceral
reaction. You don't have to listen to the words, you need only
to get goosebumps from the sound, and this happened to me on
the second listen. The first thing I felt was the way the instruments
circle very tentatively around the vocals, which include Michelle
Collins, whose feathery harmonies accentuate only when they should.
Centering the singer with the instruments results in a very
intimate, magnetic sound.
Although Nels Andrews' voice is nothing like Michael Stipe's,
he reminds me of Stipe in his phrasing, and that's a very high
compliment. He sounds nothing like Sting, yet his higher registers
could get "there," if that was a goal of his.
The band is terrific. Jeffrey Richards, late of Hazeldine,
plays lead guitar and banjo. And when I say "banjo,"
don't cringe. The legendary songwriter Dave Carter used the
banjo to evoke the sound of bones clacking together, echoy and
sad, and that's exactly what Richards provides when he picks
his banjo up.
Heath Dauberman and TestyKool add just the right percussion
at just the right time, and Chris Kitchen lays down a solid bass
line. Guest musicians include Brett Sparks on accordian, Janson
Daniello on mandolin and lap steel, David Gutierrez on pedal
steed, Sarah Kramer on trumpet (great idea, that), Ryan Martino,
and TestyKool on bells and tamborine.
Every note from each string is discernable. The arrangements
are entirely unpretentious, in the sense of "less-is-more."
But this record is far, far from simple. Even the darkest story
is told with dare I say it? sensitivity, but
unflinching sensitivity. "Lady, lift your dress for me,
I think you can make an old man well," sings Andrews, in
"Denim Scarecrow."
"I'll buy you anything from the bottles on the bottom
shelf. When I wear my sex like a shirt that's two sizes small,
what's a denim scarecrow waiting for?"
My favorite song on the CD is called "Jesse's Mom."
Jesse's Mom thought she was born with gypsy in her blood,
when she laid down with a black man in the west Arkansas mud,
back before those things were done.
Hallelujah to the fat man, with the skinny little books
on Jesus.
Hallelujah to the gospel choir on Hazeldine.
There will be no more hard times out in Louisiana,
and nothing resting heavy, on Jess's mind.
But nowadays, there's no gypsy trains
just rundown motels with weekly and monthly rates
and Jesse sat, and watched TV alone.
Andrews' incorporating landmarks from around Albuquerque is
just icing on the cake for me. But his talent, and this particular
CD, is so, so much bigger than that. I'd be surprised
if "Sunday Shoes" isn't the sleeper Americana
CD of the year for me, and for a lot of other listeners too,
especially those who love a good story, superbly sung, a strong
melody, a lovely taste of melancholy, and a true sense of musical
and intellectual integrity.
www.nelsandrews.com
You can contact Bonny Holder at bonny-at-rockzilla.net
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