There's the distortion of the American Dream seen from the distance of this small European island that is hellishly romantic and creates the deepest of yearnings for experience.

Since Kerouac took to the road and wrote only what kicked him and kept him overtime awake from sheer mad joy. Since Dylan took the pilgrimage to see a dying Guthrie and became an unwitting voice of a generation. America's vast land of opportunity has been the muse to the greatest Art of the 20th Century. It was the American century.

Cass McCombs is a descendant of these greats, he comes from a long lineage of Nomadic poets, truthseekers living at the extremes of existence and, importantly, reporting back.

Notoriously elusive and difficult in interviews, he has travelled extensively across the States recording music when he can and with whoever is available to assist. A modern drifter and factotum, 2011 has seen him release two albums recorded in various homes and studios in California, New York, New Jersey and Chicago. The songs divided thematically to create two very different albums.

The first release, in April (2011), was Wit's End - a hugely atmospheric and dark record full of sparse arrangements. Not an easy record to listen to but when it struck it did so hard, transporting the listener into McCombs' vision of America's rustic underbelly. A sinister world of seemingly perpetual night. By contrast Humor Risk is almost a pop record with a far more upbeat sound and diverse range of styles. Lyrically it deals with the lifestyles of characters met on the road, with drugs and Scientology. The sleeve demands that we Please Read Lyrics and these reveal long narratives about drug deals and friendships gone awry, of Biblical allegories, of loving thine enemy.

“Wit's End is like a stew; Humor Risk is the raw food diet.” - Cass McCombs.

The music varies wildly across the 8 tracks. Opener 'Love Thine Enemy' is an all out assault on the pop charts with the line “Love thine enemy, but hate their lack of sincerity” repeated over and over until it bludgeons its way into your skull and you can't get it out of your head. Elsewhere the 7:50 long narrative song, 'Mystery Mail' chugs along on the most basic of sub-Velvet Underground riffs until the fast-forward button is pressed in submission. It's clear that McCombs considers himself a lyrical heavyweight and a misunderstood, difficult poet but it's musically that Humor Risk fails. The complex and subtle arrangements of the previous five albums is rejected here in favour of a stab at the mainstream and unfortunately he doesn't pull it off.

Personally I far prefer Wit's End as it hangs together as a complete record and holds immense emotional power. Humor Risk seems too much like throwaway b-sides collection.

7

Richard Arthur Bennett