Bearing in mind she shares a home town (Lubbock) with Buddy Holly, began singing at the tender age of six in her family gospel trio, has written multi-platinum selling songs for the likes of Joe Ely and Emmy Lou Harris and has been described by no less than the legendary Willie Nelson as “an undiscovered superstar”, then it's probably no surprise to discover that KIMMIE RHODES knows a thing or three about writing emotive and memorable songs of the country-tinged variety.
'Walls Fall Down', then, is Rhodes' umpteenth album since her 1981 debut 'Kimmie Rhodes & The Jackalope Brothers' and while it's your reviewer's first major fix, it's quite likely the contents will prove addictive in the near future, because it's one of those quality-first affairs you'll find yourself returning to regardless of yourself.
Having said that, Kimmie's voice is something of an acquired taste for the uninitiated. Not that there's anything suspect or less than convincing about her, but I initially found it difficult to equate the angelic, child-like vocal delivery with the attractive woman gracing the cover. I'm on dangerous ground here, I know, but my preconceived idea was of a singer with the same kind of lived-in gravelly depth of an Emmy Lou or Lucinda Williams. I hadn't visualised someone with a range akin to, say, Nanci Griffith or Victoria Williams.
But, as I said earlier, there's nothing wrong with that once you've re-aligned your perception and indeed her sweet, but commanding vocals are soon making their presence felt on the opening title track: a distinguished, mid-paced ballad supported by piano and strings. It's not overtly Country tinged, although guitarist Gabe Rhodes weighs in with a descriptive, Hank Marvin-meets-Mark Knopfler solo to lift it heavenwards.
Elsewhere, Rhodes and co. mine a seam of more traditional Texan country, courtesy of songs like the yearning 'I've Been Loved By You', the uncluttered simplicity of the Keiron Goss co-write 'Make The Morning Shine' and 'If I Needed You': a wistful, downhome version of the Townes Van Zandt classic which finds Rhodes paying tribute to her Lone Star state heritage with gravitas to spare.
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If Townes Van Zandt is rightly regarded with reverence, though, Rhodes keeps nothing less than antipathy and cold anger is reserve for another Texan native, a certain Mr. Bush. 'Your Majesty' swings in on a sinister, chilly groove and Brian Standefer adds an eerie, lowing cello before Rhodes gets seriously political courtesy of damning lyrics like: “you say God, freedom and democracy/ but you can't say you've practised what you've preached/ 'cos that ain't the fruit that's hangin' from your tree.” It's not quite in the Jefferson Pepper league, but it's a stinging rebuke, nonetheless, and casts a likeably dark and intense shadow over the album's final third, which also includes the anthemic Hurricane Katrina commentary of 'There's A Storm Coming' and the creeping country blues of the closing 'Last Seven Seconds': a stark, but thought-provoking hymn to creation apparently edging further towards self-destruction.
The fact it's all too tangible is a bit of a downer in itself, but nonetheless it's a beautifully-realised and cautionary way to end an album which covets enough surprises to keep both hardened roots fans and the more casual listener interested. The Lone Star State, it seems, continues to shine real bright in the roots-rock firmament.
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