Music
Since he made his mark on the contemporary blues scene almost 20 years ago, singer-guitarist Robert Cray has tapped a bottomless well of contrition in songs about illicit relationships. Hits like “Smoking Gun” and “Strong Persuader” from his first blockbuster album had great crossover appeal, but his songs and arrangements of the past few years have quietly reached a plateau of subtle diversity, telling public and private tales with intimate poignancy.
Cray compares the songs on his current album Twenty, his third on the independent Sanctuary label, to reading the paper on a daily basis. On the record’s reggae-inflected opening track, a street hustler gets caught taking a harder hit than he’s ever dished out. Other slices of life on the CD offer snapshots of the confrontations, breakups and reaffirmations that couples and, more particularly, lone dogs go through. But the title track rises above the other songs, mainly because it takes on the most ambitious subject.
The story of a young, idealistic soldier who goes off to Iraq, quickly becomes disillusioned and returns to his mother in a coffin, “Twenty” unfolds in a plain, unsentimental way that makes it a compelling protest song. It speaks for those who can’t talk back to authority, something Cray recalls from his father’s experience during the war in Vietnam. He’s gotten positive responses to the song from both sides of the political fence, he says, since he kicked off his tour back in May. As public sentiment has changed toward the war, it’s even picked up a “nice groundswell” that he couldn’t have predicted at the time he wrote it.
To keep his sound fresh and assert that there are “still places to go” with his music, Cray had his band come into the studio without rehearsing for Twenty. Though the band members mailed demos of their songs to each other well in advance of the recording, the arrangements try to capture “feeling, as opposed to perfection.” The result displays not only the quick learning curve that’s second nature to his longtime band, but also their resourcefulness. Jim Pugh’s keyboards are a virtual glossary of peppery old-school soul riffs, and Cray’s licks come out most true-blue when framed by somewhat glossier accompaniment.
Cray and his band play the Cannery Ballroom Oct. 10.
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