Das Ende `95 erschienene Debüt von Son Volt ging tiefer als AM der Konkurrenz Wilco. „Es gibt Platten, die treffen dich mitten ins Herz“, resümiert der Kritiker im ME/Sounds und hat damit praktisch alles gesagt. Auf dem Album wechseln sich Balladen von klassischem Reinheitsgrad mit krachenden Elektro-Rockern in bester Crazy Horse-Manier ab. Aber es sind vor allem die langsamen Songs, die einem förmlich die Beine wegreißen. Der Opener Windfall, der dritte Song Tear Stained Eye oder Song Nr. 5 Ten Second News (also die ersten drei Balladen des Albums) - intensiver kann dieses Genre eigentlich nicht werden. Jay Farrar erzählt mit seiner abgehangenen Stimme Geschichten des Verlustes und seine Band setzt das musikalisch verlustfrei um. Besonders erwähnen möchte ich in diesem Zusammenhang Dave Boquist, der mit Fiddle, Banjo, Lap-Steel oder Dobro immer wieder kleine musikalische Miniaturen setzt, die ein Großteil dazu beitragen, daß die Platte tatsächlich direkt ins Herz trifft. Trace schließt nahtlos an Anodyne, dem letzten Uncle Tupelo Werk an und ist für meine Begriffe sogar noch eine Steigerung.

(Glitterhouse)

Jay Farrar always provided the darkest, grittiest moments in Uncle Tupelo, so it comes as no surprise that Son Volt is a rawer record than A.M., the first album by Wilco, a band led by his former partner Jeff Tweedy. Throughout Son Volt's debut, Trace, the group reworks classic honky tonk and rock & roll, adding a desperate, determined edge to their performances. Even when they rock out, there is a palpable sense of melancholy to Farrar's voice, which lends a poignancy to the music. Trace isn't a great step forward from Tupelo's last album, the lovely Anodyne, but it is a fine continuation of the ideas Farrar has pursued over the course of his career.

(by Stephen Thomas Erlewine, All Music Guide)

„...Mark Olson and Gary Louris lead their slightly expanded six-piece band through a string of beautifully bracing folk-tinged pop songs stunning in their simplicity. Their trademark, winsome vocal harmonies move from aching to expansive with captivating ease...“ (New Musical Express)
„...the country harmonies that Mark Olson contrives with guitar hero Gary Louris attain that upliftingly sad tinge of gospel that was once the heavenly terrain of Gram Parsons and Emmylou Harris...“ (Entertainment Weekly)

Welcome to the familiy: Pat Johnson, Songwriter aus dem Clan von Leonhard Cohen über John Martyn bis Alan Taylor, spielt eine schöne Akustikgitarre und seine Songs sind private Gedichte eines Einzelgängers über das Leben und seine Episoden, über Frauen, Einsamkeiten und Eifersucht, voll von Bildern und Metaphern. Die Musik ist etwas für ruhige Tage, besser noch Abende, allein mit einem Drink und der Absicht sich weit weg vom Alltäglichen in Gedanken zu verlieren. Es rockt soft, Bläser liefern Soul-Anklänge, Blues stellt sich ein, alles klingt sympathisch unplugged und verlockt zum Mitsummen. Sorgfältig produziert erfreuen abwechslungsreiche Arrangements, nur einige fade-outs dauern entschieden zu lang! Nichts Revolutionäres, aber auch nicht "déja vu". Unterstützt von guten und teils bekannten KollegInnen (u.a. Penelope Houston), schöne Songs in guter Handarbeit - und das ist heute schon was!

Ingo Rasch (www.discover.de)

In order to immediately penetrate the slow, funereal rhythms of the Bathers' Sunpowder album, skip to track six, "Faithless." On this song, the Bathers' quiet, brooding music doesn't sound so self-absorbed; violins weep eloquently atop snapping drums and gently strummed acoustic guitars. Singer Chris Thomson chokes on his words as if each melancholy lyric was mined with thorns. "Faithless" is the key to unlocking this dense, seemingly hookless album. Once it is heard, the indecipherable vocals and pervading sadness of Sunpowder's first half is no longer uneasy listening. Thomson's gravelly voice suddenly becomes familiar; furthermore, "Faithless" places the listener in the right mood to appreciate the album in its entirety. Fans of Thomson's previous group, Friends Again, probably won't recognize their idol here; the crystalline jangle of "She's Gone Forever" is the only track that resembles that work. On Sunpowder, Thomson's voice recalls Tom Waits' drunken rasp. The piano, violins, and acoustic riffs that envelope the release will have devotees of the Tindersticks wondering if the album was labeled incorrectly. The celestial wail of Elizabeth Fraser from the Cocteau Twins sheds some light on Thomson's weighty sorrow, especially on "Danger in Love." The country-flavored "Send Me Your Halo" is an uplifting love song with stirring violins. Sunpowder may be hard to digest at first, but patience reveals its inner beauty.

(by Michael Sutton, All Music Guide)

Tilt was Scott Walker's first album following over a decade of silence, and whatever else he may have done during his exile, brightening his musical horizon was not on the agenda. Indescribably barren and unutterably bleak, Tilt is the wind that buffets the gothic cathedrals of everyone's favorite nightmares. The opening "Farmer in the City" sets the pace, a cinematic sweep that somehow maintains a melody beneath the unrelenting melodrama of Walker's most grotesque vocal ever. Seemingly undecided whether he's recording an opera or simply haunting one, Walker doesn't so much perform as project his lyrics, hurling them into the alternating maelstroms and moods that careen behind him. The effect is unsettling, to put it mildly. At the time of its release, reviews were undecided whether to praise or pillory Walker for making an album so utterly divorced from even the outer limits of rock reality, an indecision only compounded by its occasional (and bloody-mindedly deceptive) lurches towards modern sensibilities. "The Cockfighter" is underpinned by an intensity that is almost industrial in its range and raucousness, while "Bouncer See Bouncer" would have quite a catchy chorus if anybody else had gotten their hands on it. Here, however, it is highlighted by an Eno-esque esotericism and the chatter of tiny locusts. The crowning irony, however, is "The Patriot (A Single)," seven minutes of unrelenting funeral dirge over which Walker infuses even the most innocuous lyric ("I brought nylons from New York") with indescribable pain and suffering. Tilt is not an easy album to love; it's not even that easy to listen to. First impressions place it on a plateau somewhere between Nico's Marble Index and Lou Reed's Metal Machine Music -- before long, familiarity and the elitist chattering of so many well-heeled admirers rendered both albums mere forerunners to some future shift in mainstream taste. And maybe that is the fate awaiting Tilt, although one does wonder precisely what monsters could rise from soil so belligerently barren. Even Metal Machine Music could be whistled, after all. (by Dave Thompson, AMG)

"Morrison returned to the studio for 1995´s Days Like This, and early listenings lure you into believing that he has managed to recapture the inspirational vibe of his best work. "Perfect Fit," the opener, seems to embody all of the confidence and high spirits found on "Bright Side of the Road" from Into the Music. Tenor saxophonist Pee Wee Ellis, returning after a decade-long absence, has an immediate impact: the horns sound great. The bass guitar leaps from the speakers, and Van´s harmonica seems ready to take on the world. There are many sweet sounds here, but the listener leaves the table hungry. In quick succession, beginning with the vacuous but sonorous "Perfect Fit," Van tosses off songs whose pleasing veneer conceals a hollow core.
Those who are still listening closely as the album passes the halfway point, however, are rewarded. The title song turns a common expression and famous pop song chorus on its head. Usually, the phrase "My momma told me there´d be days like this" is something you say to make yourself feel better at the end of a tough day: the implication is that a good day might be just around the corner. The singer, steeling himself against disappointments and letdowns, does not want to feel too good on the good days: "When all the parts of the puzzle start to seem like they fit / Then I must remember there´ll be days like this." Keep an ear peeled for one of Morrison´s best sax solos.
This odd manipulation of positive and negative continues into "Underlying Depression" and "Melancholia." The former tacks post-Dylan self-analysis onto a sweet Motown vibe culled from Smokey Robinson & The Miracles while the latter is an eccentric gem. With a horn part as gorgeous as anything on Beautiful Vision and some moving echo vocals by Brian Kennedy and James Huntsman, Van sings the word "Melancholia" over and over in the chorus, serenely caressing each syllable as if he were whispering a lover´s name. In doing so, he seems to banish his dark mood.
The neglected epic "Ancient Highway" is in the grand tradition of "Listen to the Lion" and "You Don´t Pull No Punches." Over a dusky, Spanish-sounding melody, a quiet rhythm section, muted trumpet, and recorder, Morrison projects images of a Friday night in Belfast when all of the workers are heading home and the musicians´ shift is just beginning. Morrison talks of the "dues of the organ grinder jam" and links himself to endless generations of musicians. Though the singer is the grateful recipient of "trancelike visions," he is haunted by a "nightmare hurt" and a desire to "slip away down that ancient highway." It is here that Van stumbles on the limitations of nostalgia and remembrance just as he did almost a decade earlier on No Guru No Method No Teacher. While all of Morrison´s albums from the early 90´s had expressed a desire to go back to childhood and early adolescence when "everything made more sense" and he was most capable of experiencing the elusive "sense of wonder," the memory in "Ancient Highway" is of being older, of feeling isolated and restless, of needing to leave home and childhood behind forever, and he is afraid of failure: "I keeping praying to my higher self, don´t let me down..."
For the last song, Morrison comes back to adulthood and deliberately revisits the afternoon light and isolated room of "Melancholia," but this time he feels anything but despair: "I wanna make love to you / In the afternoon..." and so an album which began so weakly, finishes with an extended flourish of Morrison´s genius."(Scott Thomas)

"1995 war das Jahr, in welchem sich mit Pearl Jam die Jünger des Grunge vor ihrem Herrn und Meister Neil Young verneigten, und so zogen sie gemeinsam los, um die Botschaft von einer besseren Welt zu verbreiten und denjenigen, die sie nicht im Konzert sehen konnten, diese Platte zu hinterlassen. Leider war der damalige Hype dem tatsächlichen musikalischen Wert nicht im Entferntesten angemessen, aber wie hätte es auch keinen Hype geben sollen, wenn sich quasi zwei der wichtigsten Vertreter zweier Generationen des Rock zusammentun.
Schnell war klar, dass Pearl Jam einfach nicht die Klasse von Crazy Horse hatten, und wenn ich „Sleeps With Angels“, die Young-Platte von 1994 mit Crazy Horse, ein wirkliches Meisterstück und total übersehen, mit dieser abgefeierten Rock’n’Roll-Scheibe vergleiche, muss ich schon ein bisschen lachen. Kaum eines der Lieder auf „Mirrorball“ hat die Qualität von „Sleeps With Angels“, doch das nur am Rande. „Mirrorball“ ist jedoch gewiss keine schlechte Platte, im Gegenteil. „Throw Your Hatred Down“, „Downtown“, “I’m The Ocean”, “Big Green Country”, das waren und sind schon klasse Songs, doch wahrlich keine musikalische Erneuerung, wie das in “Spex” und woanders zu lesen war.
Mein absoluter Favorit und damals wie heute einfach nicht aus dem Player zu kriegen: „I’m The Ocean“. Die aufpeitschende Zwei-Akkordgitarrenorgie ist wahrlich ein Hammer. Insgesamt eine recht frische und unverbrauchte Bestandsaufnahme dessen, was hätte sein können, wenn Grunge eben nicht schon längst verkommerzialisiert und kaputtgemacht worden wäre. Die Scheibe hätte nur 1992 kommen müssen und nicht 1995, als es eigentlich schon vorbei war.
Grandios schlampig hingeworfenes Cover-Artwork des Pappkartonschubers wieder mal: Sieht aus wie der hinkopierte Probeausdruck einer Schülerband, die zum ersten Mal ein bisschen darüber nachdenkt, wie man das Äußere doch gestalten sollte. Aber Youngs Platten-Cover und sein Inneres korrespondierten öfters miteinander, oder auch nicht, je nachdem, wie man das sehen will. Die Discokugel des Fillmore West wird’s schon richten, wird er sich gedacht haben.
Eingespielt an vier Winterabenden im Januar und Februar 1995." (Glitterhose)

Recorded at home, the spare instrumentation of Mutineer doesn't work in favor of the album. Instead, it emphasizes the pretentious nature of many of the songs, along with their lack of melody, as the dirge-like "Something Bad Happened to a Clown" indicates.

(by Stephen Thomas Erlewine, All Music Guide)

Als das „beste Album, das Son Volt nie gemacht haben“ wurde dieses überregional erschienene Debüt beschrieben (es gab vorher eine lokal erschienene CD, die aber kaum einer hat und von der einige Songs in neuen Versionen auf „Dog Days“ zu finden sind).
Passte zum Erscheinungsdatum 1995 haargenau ins Dreieck des „countrified American rock“ zwischen Son Volt, den Mythen der Shivers und der zupackenden Art von Neil Young mit Crazy Horse. Produktionstechnisch zeichnet Eric Ambel verantwortlich, was im Hause Glitter als Qualitätssiegel gilt, denn der Mann hat genau das richtige Gespür für den richtigen Roots-Sound mit Spezialgebiet `Gitarrendruck´.
Lange habe ich „Dog Days“ nicht mehr gehört, aber als ich die CD im Zuge dieses Specials wieder reinlegte, war ich sofort gefangen von diesem Album und überrascht, wie gut es gealtert ist. In sich geschlossen, ohne Experimente und mit durchweg überdurchschnittlichem Songmaterial, von ganz ruhigen Songs (das wunderbare „Wink“ oder „Epitaph“, zwischen Nick Cave und Robert Johnson) zu luftigen Rockern („Blue Canoe“), von hymnischen Gitarrenkrachern („Slow Suicide“) zur Bluegrass/Rock-Fusion („Jimmy Carter“), vom Crazy Horse Gedächtnissong („Let´s Ride“) zum dreckigen Swamp-Blues („Special Rider Blues“). Alles im sofort wiedererkennbaren, erdigen Blue Mountain-Sound. Bands mit solchen Debüts bringt die No Depression/Alt. Country-Szene in den letzten Jahren nur noch äußert selten zu Tage.

(Glitterhouse)

A talented guitarist/singer/songwriter and producer, Buddy Miller merges a love for classic country, with a rock & roll sense of urgency and do-it-yourself ethic. Witness the fact that a good share of this record was recorded in Miller's living room. The results, however, are memorable -- not low-budget. Miller enlists some great vocal support from longtime duo partner Jim Lauderdale, Lucinda Williams, Emmylou Harris, and Dan Penn. His wife, Julie Miller, also provides moving harmonies, particularly on a stunning cover of the Louvin Brothers' classic "You're Running Wild," as well as sharing writing credits with her husband on a good share of the songs. She solely authored two of the album's strongest tracks, the haunting "Don't Listen to the Wind" and the tender ballad "Through the Eyes of a Broken Heart." And although it's been largely overlooked, Miller arguably turns in the finest version of Tom T. Hall's lonesome "That's How I Got to Memphis" since the original. (by Jack Leaver, AMG)

Early in 1995, Tindersticks launched the release of their second album with a lavish concert at the Bloomsbury Theatre, performed with a full orchestra. In November, they released a limited-edition disc of the show. The grand, sweeping arrangements perfectly complement the lush, aching melancholy of their songs and, at times, even improve on the original album versions.

(by Stephen Thomas Erlewine, All Music Guide)

ALT is a side project (and supergroup of sorts) consisting of Andy White, Liam O Maonlai (Hothouse Flowers), and Tim Finn (ex-Split Enz) -- the name comes from the first letters of each of their first names. In 1993, the three began writing together informally in Dublin -- one of the songs, "Many's the Time (in Dublin)," appeared on Finn's 1993 album, Before & After. In June 1994, they reconvened in Finn's Melbourne-based Periscope Studios, where they recorded their debut album, Altitude. Altitude was released by EMI-Australia in 1995 and in the U.S. on Cooking Vinyl.

Altitude represents the trio's drunken, post-pub jamming with the predictable result of an informal, at times sloppy, album filled with seemingly unfinished songs. While fans of any of the individual members may be put off by these qualities, there is a spirit to these sessions that not only overcomes the shortcomings in content but also gives the record a rare warmth and charm.

(by Chris Woodstra, AMG)