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I've seen Toronto alt-country quartet Royal City live more than any
other band. And each time I see them, I get closer to the music and
the band themselves. The next time I go to a show, I'll have to sit
in singer Aaron Riches' lap if I want to get any closer. Every time
they play I hear more layers in their music. The smaller the venue,
the truer their playing is to their second longplayer, Alone at
the Microphone, which sounds like it was recorded in a tiny
bedroom.
At first spin, Alone at the Microphone could be a lost Neil
Young record. Harmonicas, banjos and gentle tape hiss are standard
throughout. The lyrics are full of dark, at times unpleasant imagery.
"Daisies" is the first track that really grabbed me, simply because
of its queer lyrics and standout guitar riffs. Sardonically, Riches
sings, "There's blood on the floor/ Pork chops on the stove/ Come all
over the bathroom door/ Daisies growin' out of your eyes, baby." You
can hear him holding back laughter as he sings. He does a 180 with
"Blood and Faeces," which finds him delicately singing to a murdered
lover: "You linger, you hide/ Under my floorboards you sigh/ You
know, don't you?"
The truly stunning songs, however, are the ones with ghostly scope,
like the haunting piano on "Spacey Basement," the simple echo of
repeating chords during "You Are the Vine" and Riches' disarming
vocals as he sings "Dank Is the Air of Death and Loathing": "Ray of
light, a pedal in my room/ I will not go forth without you." It's not
the meaning of these lyrics that makes them so powerful, but the
gut-wrenching delivery, reminiscent of such Royal City contemporaries
as Songs:Ohia and Bonnie "Prince" Billy.
In a perfect world, Royal City would be the band in the back seat of
your Olds, rocking the banjo while you drove through a sweltering
desert afternoon, with windows wide open. As dusk approached, you'd
take them to a roadhouse bar, and they'd win over the locals by
wailing "Bad Luck" ("You will never know/ The places I go to without
you").
There are moments on Alone at the Microphone that sound like
mistakes. By that I mean that the album sounds casual, offhand, full
of folk-country magic. Royal City dig into their subconscious, and
bring to the surface some of the dirt and grime they find there. Yet
despite their strange, at times dark lyrical imagery, Alone at the
Microphone sparkles like a brand new harmonica. You just can't
help but play it.
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