Malcolm Holcombe done good.
In more ways than one, Malcolm Holcombe is one of those people who'll sneak up on you. He recorded his first solo album in the mid-90s, but only 2000 copies were pressed, so not much of anyone heard it. Enough did, though, to earn him some recognition around Nashville. He recorded a second album, A Hundred Lies, for Geffen in 1996, but then Geffen got embroiled in that Universal deal, and they forgot all about Holcombe's record. It was finally released in 1999 to plenty of critical raves.
After that, and despite near-perpetual touring (mostly around the Southeast, it seems), Holcombe hasn't exactly become a household name. But more and more people are talking about him, certainly-and with the release of his latest album, Another Wisdom, a few more probably will be.
Holcombe's music sneaks up on you, too. First listens to the new record may leave you thinking he's just another alt-country singer-songwriter type trying, and maybe a little too hard, to be Dylan, Fred Eaglesmith or (most likely) Townes Van Zandt. A youngster singing like an old man, aiming for a certain kind of authenticity. Even his name might make you suspicious. By the third or fourth listen, though, you start to hear Holcombe himself coming through.
While there is something undeniably reminiscent of earlier performers in Holcombe's finger-picking and throaty North Carolina twang, there is a rare assuredness here, too. And while with most of your alt-country types (I've always hated that term), it's easy to tell that you're listening to some 25-year-old trying to be George Jones, if I hadn't seen Holcombe's picture, I never would've guessed that he was as young as he was. He's got a tight crew of seasoned back-up musicians as well, who can tear through rockers like the title track, then gear back for tender lullabies like "Sleepy Town." Produced by the legendary Don Tolle, Another Wisdom is a complex blend of folk, country, rock 'n' roll, r&b and white-boy blues.
Lyrically, Holcombe's on well-trod ground-the troubled souls who hang around bus stations, poor country folk, lost love, found love, small-town life, etc. He runs the gamut of your country music standbys-but as he does, every once in a while a clever line that'll grab your attention will drop out of a song. (The chorus of "Woman Missin'" for instance, goes in part, "You gotta woman missin'/But she ain't missin' you?") At other times, as in "Mister in Morgantown," he seems to be aiming a little high, trying to do Dylan, but not quite making it.
There are a lot of things that Holcombe doesn't yet have. He doesn't have Dylan's poetry, or the simple, profound honesty of Merle Haggard or Townes Van Zandt or John Prine's wry sense of humor-but who does? The fact that he doesn't have any of those things yet isn't necessarily bad.
He does, however, have an intriguing voice and can play like the dickens-and if he's not quite Dylan, or not quite Townes Van Zandt, he's also not another Randy Travis clone, for which we can all be grateful. Holcombe is headed somewhere. Like I mentioned at the beginning, he's sneaking up on us. This is only his second major album-and I'll tell you, this sophomore effort is still a damn sight better than most of the new crap I hear these days.