Rich McCulley— Mom! He’s At It Again!

… and I, for one, am pleased as punch. I don’t know what it is about McCulley. I have a string of his CDs in my collection and love every one of them, but I never seem to have the time to listen to them. A new one comes out, I listen for three or four weeks, and I am moving on. I have to, in a way. Music never stops, so neither can I. I have stacks of albums from decades past and fondly remember each and every one of them but don’t get to them either. I miss the days when I could get up, put that first album on and spend my day changing records until nighttime came.

A few months ago, McCulley sent me his latest, Out Along the Edges, and I gave it a cursory listen. Actually, a few listens. But when I sat down to write about it, the words wouldn’t come. I had written glowingly about his previous albums but could not quite capture what I wanted to say. If I had written this review back then, it would have been a long string of music videos highlighting every McCulley song I had absorbed (and there were many). But no words.

This morning, when I put on Out Along the Edges, I could feel the dam breaking. As the songs played, I began to remember meeting Rich (you don’t mind my calling him Rich, do you?) at the Bombs Away Cafe in Corvallis, Oregon, just north of the Oregon State campus. I walked in to find Rich uncoiling cords and arranging his amp for a performance, the stage just a corner of the small restaurant’s floor. We talked, he played, and we talked some more. Turns out that Rich is a really nice guy and we have kept in touch since.

The piece I wrote about that night for a column I write was not as glowing as some but fit the situation, I think. I wrote that I was glad he played an electric guitar through a small amp because I was quickly tiring of the acoustic wave that seemingly was taking over music, that the small handful of missed notes and wonky chords made the music honest and real and that the crowd, there to drink rather than listen, were respectful. To wit, “Had the others heard (his) albums, they would most certainly have been more appreciative, though they were appreciative enough. They were respectful. After the third beer, they were even more respectful. Ah, the life of a musician, huh?”

Indeed, the life of a musician. But Rich has embraced that age old adage that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and is proving it, one album at a time. Out Along the Edges is steeped in the Americana and Pop beginnings he brought to his music but goes one step further. The songs are all crisp, smooth and familiar at the same time, and strung together beautifully.

Compare that to the Rich McCulley I met a number of years ago.

More confidence, or maybe a different feel. I can’t quite put my finger on it but his music has grown somehow. There is definitely something there. Listen to the harmonies.

It brings back memories. Good memories. Nice stuff, Rich. May we meet again soon.