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The unfairness of things (5) Johnny Berry

Ahem...my fifth visit to the stack of CDs I somehow seemed unable to write about in print, does not, let us be clear, lead to an exultation crowing about the 1990s country singer from South Carolina, John Berry. No, our Johnny Berry hails from Flaherty, Kentucky, but now lives in Louisville, where he fronts a versatile honky tonk trio called the Outliers. On the stereo again this morning is last year's release, his second as a leader, called Fegenbush Farm.

Mr. Berry turns out to have an interesting pedigree that includes three years at the long-closed Opryland theme park (perhaps he worked there the same time Chely Wright was impersonating Minnie Pearl; it wasn't paradise, I gather, and closed not long after I moved to Nashville ten years ago, but they paved it to put up a shopping mall). And then a season playing bass with Doyle Lawson and another stint with Charlie Sizemore. He settled back in Louisville, first playing bluegrass, now honky tonk, and presumably clutching to more stable employment to go along with his wife and child.

He sings in an easy, gently swinging bass that draws unnecessary comparisons to Johnny Cash (and cutting "Mean Eyed Cat" does him no favors). Berry's voice has neither the edge nor the gravitas of Cash, and pushing its tonal similarity seems an unnecessary distraction. (Maybe it would help to think of him as a more tuneful Ernest Tubb who didn't smoke, though you'll hear some Buck Owens, too. And he could've fit in had the Derailers auditioned him.)

Regardless, it's a pleasant voice, perhaps a step short of being extraordinary (there's not even a hint of crazy here), but surely more than good enough. More striking, however, is the genuine grace with which Berry writes. We have lived through an era of low-rent honky tonk revival, and all the caricature which sometimes goes with that. Berry's songs -- mostly from his pen, occasionally with a co-writer -- are well-rooted but strikingly timeless. Not affected, but effective. Conscious, but not self-conscious.

His voice alone got me to the third track some months back, but "Lying Down," and the verse, "You're the only thing in this world/I'll take lying down/I still bring you flowers/and hold you for hours in my arms" -- either an evocative expression of love or a very disturbing graveside vigil -- revealed a particularly gifted songwriter. The seventh cut, "Roanoke On The Run," was already a first-rate badman-on-the-run song (and reminding me of Paul Burch's "Percy Lynn's Run") when the phrase "murder of crows" went by. That happens to be exactly what a gang of crows is called, which I suspect to be a fairly arcane bit of trivia (and there's no telling why it stuck with me, though it does turn out to be the title of a murdery mystery and a Cuba Gooding film, so...). It is also the perfect phrase in the right song, and Berry has the great good sense to draw absolutely no additional attention to it. It's just part of the song. He doesn't repeat it, doesn't highlight it, just leaves it there as a singular and brilliant line. The keyboard line beneath the guitars is as carefully considered, and well-played.

He'll do. One of these days when I'm in Louisville for more than to visit the airport, I'll find that corner bar where Mr. Berry holds court. As I recall there are a couple first-rate IPAs brewed in Louisville. Could be a right fine night.

Posted by grant on January 14, 2007 10:52 AM | Permalink

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