Bruce Springsteen — who has been asked to analyze
his own work as often as just about anyone in the modern era — has
more than once compared talking about music to talking about sex,
suggesting that both are “better when demonstrated.”
The Boss’s apt analogy comes to mind when trying to
describe Northey Valenzuela, an odd-couple side-project pairing of
two singer-songwriters with diverse backgrounds but similar musical
interests. Northey, of Vancouver’s underground darlings the Odds,
is a red-headed Canuck with a flair for witty, loose-limbed
story-songs. Valenzuela, of Arizona’s star-crossed Gin Blossoms, is
a Mexican American with a perpetual twinkle in his eye whose
polished songcraft has caught the ear of admiring artists from
Nashville to the West Coast. What the two share most is an
affection — and a facility — for intelligent, melodic,
guitar-driven rock and roll.
Valenzuela and Northey’s paths-crossing moment came
when both were playing guitar and singing harmony for bands seeking
fame and fortune in LA. The Odds and the Blossoms hung in the same
bars, played on the same bills and crashed on the same floors more
than once back in the day. A decade and a half later, the pair have
hooked up for an album on which they trade songs and lead and
harmony vocals like a NAFTA-ized version of the BoDeans, filling
the air with jangly roots-rock with the bubbly start and smooth
finish of professional musicians cutting loose and having a good
time.
So what sets this album apart?
Maybe it’s the way Northey and Valenzuela seamlessly
slide between lead and supporting roles song by song. Northey has
more of a pop/rock voice, where Valenzuela’s is softer and smokier,
but both give their phrasing a slightly wise-and-weary, lived-in
feel, and the shift from one to other singing lead is barely
noticeable.
Or maybe it’s the way the pair’s tongue-in-cheek
humor keeps shining through. Early on, the chorus to Valenzuela’s
steady-rocking first offering “Counting On You” goes “I’m countin’
on you / I’m countin’ on you / I’m countin’ on you / To do me
wrong.” “Let It Go” offers another nice twist as Northey croons
over a faux Motown base “You’ve gotta be cruel to be kind, come on,
lead on / We’ll both feel better when one of us is gone.” The
laconic “Halfway To Happy” is another treat full of zingers.
Or maybe it’s how effortless this album feels. Track
after track, the pair find an apt turn of phrase and a sturdy hook
to hang it on. Cuts like “Halfway To Happy” and “Borrowing Trouble”
display a quiet mastery of songwriting and a pure enjoyment of that
mastery. It’s all so low-key and friendly in tone you almost miss
the craft behind it — but it’s there, in spades.
That said, this still feels like one of those albums
that bolsters Springsteen’s argument. I could talk about it all
night long and it wouldn’t have half the effect of simply popping
the disc in your player and settling into these rich, easy
grooves.
