Published on Apr 3, 2002
There’s much to be found on your radio these days – glittery
pop, grinding hard rock, smooth R&B, angry rap – but there is a
distinct shortage of one simple element: sincerity. It’s the
quality so many of today’s acts seem to be missing as they angle
for the hot video, the stretch limo, the million-dollar payday. And
it’s the quality that’s the very essence of Shawn Mullins’ approach
to music.
Mullins’ personal story looms almost as large as the music
itself at times… meeting and swapping songs with future
Indigo Girl Emily Saliers in high school… spending several
years in the military… exiting it for the life of a
troubadour, bumming around the southeast playing acoustic sets and
slowly building a following… never catching up to that one
big break, until one day a DJ at a big Atlanta station shrugged his
shoulders, said “Why not?” and added a track called “Lullaby” to
his playlist. The rest of his rocket ride to the top is the stuff
of legend.
In its original incarnation,
Soul’s Core was Mullins’ fifth indie disc, and most mature
and full-bodied effort. The album plays almost like an artist’s
notebook, one confidently sketched vignette after another, with the
emphasis clearly on Mullins’ frank yet earnest storytelling style.
His roots in the rural story-songs of the Guthries and Dylans
before him are evident in tracks like “The Ballad of Billy Jo
McKay,” about a restless southern boy itching to make a break for
the city.
But on this album Mullins’ music turns a corner from the
somewhat self-conscious and occasionally precious style of his
earlier, sparsely arranged albums to embrace a fuller sound and
wider thematic range. “Anchored In You” might have made a beautiful
acoustic love song, but multiplies its impact with a full band to
carry Mullins through its soaring chorus. “Shimmer” is actually a
remake of an acoustic track from his previous album, and while both
versions shine, the full-band arrangement here feels much more
appropriate to the rich theme of the way a child’s innocence can
influence his/her parents.
It’s not that Mullins doesn’t make room for his folkie roots –
the brilliant “Twin Rocks, Oregon,” in which he and his guitar spin
a solo tale of a random, potentially life-altering encounter by the
side of the highway, is evidence enough of that. It’s just that
he’s willing now to make the leap and give strong narratives like
“Tannin Bed Song” and “Gulf Of Mexico” the extra power they gain
with a full band backing him.
Parts of this album play like a travelogue, conveying life on
the road with all its twists and turns, lonely moments and
affirmations. Thankfully, Mullins’ travels included a stop in LA,
where he composed “Lullaby,” the sharply drawn portrait of a girl
trying to hang onto hope in a hopeless town, and his ticket to the
big time. The song’s matter-of-fact spoken verses and soaring
chorus are supported by Mullins’ sharp acoustic picking, evocative
drum loops, piano and strings, capturing a time and a place and a
mood so well it seems almost like destiny that it hit number
one.
Some transitional albums feel awkward, like the artist is caught
between two worlds. And indeed, the contrast between Mullins’
earlier acoustic efforts and 2000’s
Beneath The Velvet Sun is striking, but
Soul’s Core, the stepping stone between them, feels
completely organic and natural. The folkie numbers are spiced up
perfectly by gospel-funk workouts like “Soul Child” and “September
In Seattle,” with its buoyant piano, rude clavinet, soulful
background vocals from Shelley Yankus, and wild electric guitar
solo. The only track here that feels at all like a misstep is his
affectionate but overlong remake of Kris Kristofferson’s “Sunday
Mornin’ Comin’ Down.”
The essence of Mullins’ approach can be found in tracks like
“Patrick’s Song,” an ode to a friend dying young, and “You Mean
Everything To Me,” a simple, devastatingly sincere love song.
There’s no posing here; Mullins feels something inside and just
lets fly with it in song. It’s an approach that takes mountains of
courage and no small talent to pull off, and here Mullins does it.
Sincerity — what a concept.