Garrett T. Capps

This one has been locked on the headphones since the moment it got here, a welcome answer to the question, “Where have all the Cowpunks gone?” Capps has been a San Antonio staple, often wading into the waters of Cosmic Country; folding progressive beats and atmospheric swirl into the mix on many of his albums. For his latest, first released back in February, but slated for a necessary vinyl release this fall on Tall Texan, the songwriter strips it all back. The clouds part and the aura on Life Is Strange tips towards the crossfade years of the late ‘80s early ‘90s, when country found time to get roughed up with alt barnacles from the Rockville and Twin/Tone troughs. The record emerges from the haze with an existential dread and a shaggy reluctance to let life mow you down into straight rows.

Hung on Capps’ graveled drawl, the album holds an obvious appeal to the Tupelo/Son Volt contingent. The bulk of the bruised tales here certainly find themselves hangin’ on the same screen door that banged the back porch of the No Depression domicile, fitting in nicely with The Jayhawks and Giant Sand camps as well. There’s something still more classic about this record, though; an outlaw DNA that doesn’t wrap the pearl buttons in flannel completely. As much as the title track lets some fuzz on the range, Capps can bring a proper end of the bar comedown too. “Endless Hole,” with its fiddle swells and sundown strums, chases a few resigned sighs into the foam. The record rides the line between the hope of youth and the humility of age. Ennui tangles with the kind of song that has the wherewithal to clip its chorus on the the fact that we’re all gonna die. In the hands of a lesser songwriter, the themes could feel cheap, but Capps careens through dashed dreams, inevitable loss, and the claustrophobia of modern life with the rough stubble charm of the kind of troubadours that skip the limelight in favor of legendary status.

Support the artist. Buy it HERE.