Die markante Stimme wickelt den Hörer sofort ein und beamt ihn zurück in die Zeiten des überragenden Son Volt Debüts Trace von 1995. Und wenn auch American Central Dust nicht ganz diese Klasse erreicht, so ist es doch eine überzeugende Rückmeldung, die hinten raus sogar noch richtig stark wird.
(Glitterhouse)
After spearheading the alternative country movement with his band Uncle Tupelo, Jay Farrar pursued his vision with Son Volt, who recorded three landmark albums in the '90s before the groundbreaking artist put the band on extended hiatus and cut three solo records. Now back with his third Son Volt album of the decade, Jay Farrar has delivered what may be his finest work yet, American Central Dust. The new album exhilaratingly carries on the tradition of the Byrds, the Flying Burrito Brothers, Little Feat circa Sailin' Shoes, the Rolling Stones of Exile on Main Street and early R.E.M., with standouts like the exceptional "Down to the Wire," "Dynamite" and "No Turning Back." An epic lament for the heartland, American Central Dust is populated with readily recognizable characters, the most hopeful of them searching for love against a backdrop of rusted road signs and abandoned factories. Rarely does a musical work so powerfully capture the zeitgeist of its historical moment while also honoring the traditions of rock & roll with such rawboned grace
Jay Farrar resurrected Son Volt in 2005 after his solo career seemingly ran out of gas, and the two albums that followed — Okemah and the Melody of Riot and The Search — were the best and most compelling music he'd made since Son Volt's masterful debut Trace in 1995. However, the new albums didn't connect with an especially large audience, and the band was dropped by Sony/BMG; 2009's American Central Dust, the third set from Son Volt 2.0, has been released by the venerable independent roots music label Rounder Records, and while there's little telling if it was dictated by finance or esthetics, the album sounds austere in a way its immediate predecessors did not. Okemah and The Search found Farrar and his new bandmates edging into new musical territory while embracing a bigger studio sound; by comparison, American Central Dust feels more organic and intimate, recalling the simplicity of Trace without delivering the bracing rock & roll of songs like "Drown" or "Route." However, if American Central Dust takes a few steps back in terms of energy and impact, Farrar still sounds thoroughly engaged as both a songwriter and performer, and his band — Chris Masterson on guitars, Mark Spencer on keyboards and steel guitars, Andrew DuPlantis on bass, and Dave Bryson on drums — is tight and sympathetic, finding just the right angle to approach this material. And from the fiery love of "Dynamite," the environmental and economic commentary of "When the Wheels Don't Move," and "Down to the Wire," the tribute to the joys of a good honky tonk in "Jukebox of Steel," and the glimpse into Keith Richards' psyche of "Cocaine and Ashes," Farrar has rarely spoken his mind so clearly in his songs as he does here, and if he still reaches for a spectral feel, his meanings are more clearly felt than ever. American Central Dust doesn't have the feel of a step into new territory the way Son Volt's past two albums did, but it consolidates old strengths and confirms Jay Farrar is still an artist worth caring about to 20 years after Uncle Tupelo cut their first album.
(by Mark Deming, All Music Guide)
First listen: This record is a numbing bore. It wouldn’t be surprising that, after an industrial accident, a heavy machinery operator tested positive for traces of Son Volt in his system.
Second listen: The band, two of the five from Austin, is doing some interesting things with rhythms and textures, creating a subtly subversive backdrop/Crazy Horse lurching. Mark Spencer’s pedal steel guitar makes “Dust of Daylight” and “Pushed Too Far” truly special.
But this record could do without “Sultana,” the sort of heavy-handed tale of maritime disaster that led to the formation of Wilco.
Third listen: Jay Farrar’s voice is mesmerizing in its consistency and commitment. There’s not a note out of place and such songs as “When the Wheels Don’t Move,” about the folks hurt most in a failing auto industry, and the LP-ending “Jukebox of Steel,” sound born sturdy. It’s quite remarkable the way all the pieces come together like a potluck dinner among close friends.
Fourth listen: This could be the best Son Volt record since 1995’s “Trace,” lacking only a “Tear-Stained Eye” to bring in the fence-sitters. “American Central Dust” is about 44 minutes from beginning to end, not the 3:45 that might get them next to Patty (Griffin) on the playlist. There’s not a producer credited, as the CD sounds like musicians left alone with the sounds in their heads and the talent to translate. It’s a mood piece that makes the silence after “Jukebox of Steel” almost jarring.
Someone should do a study on why it is that so many of the albums we love are initially met with disappointment. Raise your hand if you hated “Exile On Main Street” at first. Although “A.C.D.” is not going to be a classic, it’s one of those records that challenge, then reward, those who stick it out.
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