There are many irritating occurrences at concerts: tall people, sloshing beers, hippie chick dancers, and screaming fans. An extra annoyance at many shows in The Echo Lounge of Atlanta is the presence of not one, but two opening bands. I first heard No River City as a surprising exception to the “extra-opening-bands-are-annoying” rule when the band opened for Iron and Wine at the Echo. Whiskeytown immediately came to mind””back before Ryan Adams wrote self-conscious, lovesick ballads for this week’s celebrity girlfriend””without the drama of band arguments onstage and guitar feedback from a man who wants to antagonize his fans.
It’s funny, though, that the very title of the album came from an argument between members Drew de Man and Terri Onstad, who once joked they would aggravate each other when they were on tour in a lonely state, a “North Dakota.” The irritation happened in a recording studio in Nashville, not on a desolate North Dakota highway, and the album title was born when Onstad stated, “this is our North Dakota.” Maybe it was the adrenaline from the conflict that sparked the two’s first full-length release, a 10-song joyride that swings from chill-bump inducing to, well, kind of scary.
Drew de Man is an excellent songwriter with attention toward lyrical realism that would have made Theodore Dreiser proud. In “Night Falls So Hard,” he admits that a girl’s “long brown hair” has been lying on his pillow for about 4 months, and he lies there drinking, watching the “dirty yellow sun/ dying down the corner of [his] window.” Ordinarily, the image of a man lying inactive on his bedroom floor, neglecting to change his sheets for four months, would not be particularly stimulating. Add in an enthusiastic bass line, a catchy melody, and an authentically-twangy southern tenor, though, and you’ve got a damn good, if a little “off,” country song.
The law of diminishing returns doesn’t seem to apply to NRC’s “100 Mile Dance,” a tribute to free spirits, especially Dean and Sal of Jack Kerouac’s beat classic, On the Road. De Man and Onstad’s sweet harmonies on the lyrics, “We were born to be wild/ Born to be free/ We seek the horizon/ And head for the sea,” are sweetly convincing, melting skepticism of critics who would scoff at the insincerity of similar lyrics in an Alan Jackson song. Couched in wistfulness and admiration, this track is the centerpiece of the album.
The other songs written by de Man are just as solid, and more original. Dylan penned great anti-love songs, but he didn’t make unexpected comments about an ex-girlfriend’s “mama’s house/ Where the wind smells just like trash.” In “Corrinne,” a boy threatens to stalk a now-successful ex whose name he can’t even remember how to pronounce. (Is it [Kor-inn] or [Kor-een]?) Any theme of heartbreak typical for No River City’s genre is balanced by winning, off-kilter humor; you think, then you laugh; you remember drunkenly calling an ex who didn’t want to hear from you, and you relate.
The only downers on This is our North Dakota are cover songs: Tom Waits’ “Who Are You?” and U2’s “Running to Stand Still.” “Who Are You?” drags on and on, and “Running to Stand Still” seems like filler between the original tracks that cushion it. The brevity of the album is similarly disappointing, but then it’s a delight to play it again from the top.
1. Last Thing I Remember
2. Fainter On My Tongue
3. Who Are You?
4. 100 Mile Dance
5. Broken Lines
6. Ashes
7. Corrinne
8. Night Falls So Hard
9. Running To Stand Still
10. Visit Me
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