Kari Sickenberger
(Yodel-Ay-Hee)
Some things are just inevitable. Although beloved western North Carolina combo Polecat Creek is still very much extant - formed by the sweetly-harmonizing duo of Kari Sickenberger and Laurelyn Dossett over a decade ago and featuring some of the region's top musical talent, the group's latest record is Ordinary Seasons - Sickenberger eventually felt the solo muse move in her, hence the album at hand, comprising 13 Sickenberger originals. Those familiar with the mother ship's old-time sound will note similarities, of course (and Dossett turns up on four tracks, while Polecat fiddler Natalya Weinstein's on seven of ‘em), and Sickenberger the solo artist will draw her core audience from the Polecat crowd.
But Settle Down is still a more wide-ranging affair, a country-tilting critter steeped in pedal steel, featuring sleek (but not "glossy") arrangements with drums and electric bass frequently prominent, and powered by Sickenberger's distinctive, piercing voice that slips so easily from contralto to croon you'll be checking the CD credits just to make sure this isn't a long-lost trove of Patsy Cline outtakes. Highlights are many: "Falling Out" (as in, "I believe I'm falling out of love), sassy and upbeat but with an undercurrent of sadness, just like Hank Sr. would've done it; countrypolitan weeper "Cry Over You" (George Jones or Willie Nelson could've written this for Patsy); "Climber of Mountains," alight with rippling mandolin, fiddle and guitar, with distinctive Gillian Welch/American Primitive overtones.
To these ears the part that'll leave you picking your jaw up from the floor arrives middisc. "No Strong Arms (Lament)" starts out as an up-on-the-ridge a capella by Sickenberger, who's then joined by Alice Gerrard on counterpoint harmony vocal while fiddle, banjo and hand drum provide an antebellum backdrop worthy of a Ken Burns documentary - Sickenberger's liner notes call it "a song of sorrow and a song of freedom," and it's about the emptiness a woman feels in the wake of a broken heart, or perhaps an even deeper, more primal loss. Then, cueing up immediately after is "No Strong Arms (Plea)," billed as "an homage to women and girls," and though obviously linked spiritually to the previous track, it's by contrast not as brittle or rough-hewn, with a luminous Cowboy Junkies vibe (think "Misguided Angel," if it had been reworked for Caution Horses) wrought by mandolin, pedal steel, spectral electric guitar and a male harmony vocal. Sings Sickenberger, with determination, "Don't want nobody now to call my own/ No strong arms in the dark/ Father, you say it's time for leaving home/ You give my hand, can't give my heart..." and as this song unfolds, one learns about dreams both dreamt and shattered, about sorrows and joys, and about finding one's way through life no matter how stacked the deck may seem. On several levels, this is as riveting a song, one with as rich an interior life, as Bruce Springsteen's "The River" - and if you know the tune, you know that's saying a lot.
It's hard to convey the emotional impact of these two "Arms" on the printed page - it's as if Sickenberger and her players captured something of an essence so rare and pure that to spend time analyzing it risks letting it slip away; best to hold on tightly instead. See, the most powerful music is the kind that finds its way to your heart and wraps its tendrils around your soul when you're not expecting it or looking for it. Admittedly, in the modern era it seems the volume has been turned up so loud that we sometimes just want to shut everything out. But that's precisely why you should keep your ears open. Imagine what you might miss, just beneath the roar, if you don't.
Standout Tracks: "No Strong Arms" (both versions); "Settle Down"; "Climber of Mountains FRED MILLS
