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Will Hoge - Carousel

Imagine: the Counting Crows and the Wallflowers got really drunk, forgot they were rock stars, had anything important to say, and just plugged in and played.

Could it be? Have things come full circle? Has straight-ahead, feel-over-form rock n' roll become the "new" alternative? There's no room for it on the radio or that MTV, no room on the cover of the Rolling Stone. Yet, blazing out of Nashville comes the gloriously unhip, untrendy Will Hoge (vocals, guitar and pen) and his maximum volume cohorts, wielding their latest Carousel like a silver battle-axe.

The Springsteen comparisons are flying in like bats to the cave at dawn, but are apt only in that Hoge, like the Boss, prefers for his songs to tell stories, and he delivers them with an impassioned glee and desperation that demand attention. Hoge's voice calls to mind a countrified Lenny Kravitz, with a splash of Adam Duritz (hey, those names rhyme) sans the latter's overwrought whine but plus the former's soul.

Carousel is rock n' roll as it's been done before, but done superbly well. The recipe for gumbo hasn't changed over the years either, and there's a damn good reason for that. Though a "guitar" band, (think offense sells tickets, defense wins championships), Hoge's strength, and the album's heart, comes through in the trenches, namely the merciless rhythm section. Bassist/vocalist Tres Sasser conveys a strong sense of melody while anchoring the bottom on a steel spike six inches below the floor. Drummer Kirk Yoquelet will never make a penny unless he finds someone to replace his equipment for free. It wouldn't be a surprise if he were caged and fed raw meat between gigs. Together, they are cement solid and airtight.

Lyrically, a couple of songs wander in familiar territory: the naīve, lost angel of "Heartbreak Avenue," the more jaded by the moment musician of "Rock n' Roll Star." If you're a fan of this genre, you've heard some of these stories before. Fortunately, Hoge's vocal conviction persuades the listener it's all new. And he likes to sing about women, mostly women he's lost, or never really had. It's in these songs that Hoge finds his own way with words. There's the high-class goddess of "She Don't Care" ("I got a three dollar shirt on, she got fifty-five dollar hair"), the dumpee who won't go away ("the neighbor's say keep it down, but I can't with you still around") in "Let Me Be Lonely" and Ms. Williams, with "a Bible on the front seat and a shotgun on the floor," who won't tell anybody where she was last night.

Hoge's fascination with his own cluelessness about the fairer sex is endearing, and in some bizarre way, wise. A definite "I have no idea what I'm doing, but no one else really does either" attitude. "Wish," by the way, has as catchy a chorus as I've ever heard; my neighbors already hate it. "Sweet Magdeline" hits like a hammer. Either would be a smash if they still played good rock songs on the radio.

The album's only real disappointment is its length (33 minutes). These songs are so good, you wish there were more of them. However, never does one want for more to them. Will Hoge and friends pack more life into two-and-a-half minutes than in the decade of people who have more money and drive SUV's to the video store for Disney tapes. - Bill Loehfelm