By: David Schultz

Back in the late Sixties/early Seventies, when America was embroiled in an unpopular war that seemingly had no end and the President was a detested figure whose very mention prompted scorn and derision, protest songs seemed the norm. In addition to pleading with the public for social and political change, singer/songwriters seemed adept at transforming their progressive ideals into enduring anthems whose significance outlasted their creators. In that vein, James McMurtry may very well be the last angry man left in the music industry. In 2004, he wrote the virulent anti-Bush “We Can’t Make It Here,” a song that should have paved the way for his peers to unleash their vitriolic polemic and rhetoric but instead stood alone in quality and quantity.

It’s four years later and McMurtry’s fondness for George W. Bush hasn’t grown in any shape or form and from listening to “Cheney’s Toy,” his frank and bitter assessment of W’s regime, it’s possible that McMurtry has lost esteem for a leader in which he had none in the first place. Now, that’s good righteous anger. The son of novelist Larry McMurtry of Lonesome Dove renown, McMurtry has always been a poetic lyricist, able to capture the pathos of aging, the joys of childhood and the regret of loss in a modicum of words. On Just Us Kids, McMurtry continues along the path he began with Childish Things, voicing his disappointment while demonstrating the compassionate heart that fuels his rage.

The best moments on Just Us Kids come when McMurtry unleashes his frustrations, he mocks selective prosecution on “The Governor,” decries corporate greed on “God Bless America (Pat mAcdonald Must Die)” and eulogizes the greatness of America on “Ruins Of The Realm.” Giving an idea as to what Lou Reed would have sounded like if he’d decided to godfather outlaw country instead of alternative rock, McMurtry’s half-spoken cadence allows him to recite his lyrics like poetry, giving an emotional punch to the saga of “Ruby & Carlos.”

Dating back to his earliest albums, McMurtry has always shown a knack for finding a warmth and sympathy in the human condition. The title song speaks on retaining shades of youth in the face of growing responsibilities and “Fire Line Road” deals with escaping to the outskirts of town and civilization. It’s not all pensive reflection though: the instrumental “Brief Intermission” sizzles, “Bayou Tortous” is a throwback style rocker and the honky-tonk, juke-house feel of "Freeway View” is quite infectious. With a new regime on the way, McMurtry may need to find new targets lest the last angry man find peace. Fortunately, should he ever become content and pleased, McMurtry can do more than vent political spleen.

Labels: James McMurtry