Music For Outcasts is a belying non-leaver of my truck’s CD playing universe for nearly the entirety of summer 2016. Albeit fast fed upon injection with not much thought, if any, behind it, the record has devoured my subconscious and usual deterrent to holding on to lyrical wordplay. Nick Loss-Eaton and his cavalcade of assumedly Brooklynite musicians have mounted said task in spades.
Owing as much to Dead Boys as The Smiths and as much Rolling Stones as Tom Petty, that seemingly strange correlation is a recipe for audible treats, big fluffy biscuits worth with smart-ass lyrics like sawmill gravy with a fresh gelatinous film atop. Not smart-ass in its ostentatious form, yet rather in creative wordplay perhaps channeling many an emcee who’s claimed or come up in the mighty Brooklyn borough. Loss-Eaton’s tell stories like Aesop’s Fables for weirdos, embellishing outcasts and the lone wolf mindset -- mental anguish that’s both empowering and debilitating, sinewy and tragic, the very essence of a double edged blade. Snotty roots music at it's best.
Witty and left of center, juxtapose from the norm, some fresh and fun genre-bending rock-n-roll. From the snappy first chord of the opener and it’s zombie-tinged end of the world storyboard. By “Greyhound From Reno” Loss-Eaton and company have firmly implanted the canine incisors, blood and flesh ripped, ears akimbo. The deadening blow a mere 3 songs in with some “Radiator Sabotage”, you’re now in service of the groove as he swiftly turns gears to a sad sack indie vibe and has me obsessed with the word ‘sanguine’ in “Studebaker”. Then a swift about face to a near perfect country number, and so on and so forth. I’ll save the unabashed for your own interpretation. The point being Loss-Eaton is a songwriter’s songwriter, languid stories and never short on style. Music For Outcasts is sequined with copious amounts of snotty indie rock and bottomless country blues inflicted creativity, there’s something for everyone to sink their proverbial teeth into.
A tried and true summer soundtrack for yours truly, simply a record you can’t grow not fond of. Each track a small ride to a cool destination, in the end we all want to be cool, don’t we? Isn’t that the plight of man, realistically? Whether lucid or subconscious, we all long to be cool – even us outcasts. And if you find that nonsensical, that’s the point, it’s the artistic version of the Mason-Dixon Line, for better, or for worse. We’re all an outcast in something at least once a day, if not you’re simply not doing it right. Start now! Cheers to originality and a killer record.