De Lorean. The quintessential automobile icon of eighties wealth and excess was also one of the finest American sports cars ever conceived. In 1980, it was a safe bet that anyone with a lingering partiality to some abstract exotic carmaker would immediately dissapate that partiality upon viewing a stainless steel DMC-12. The swanky machine just exuded speed, even when utterly immobile.
But I digress.
Portland-based act Dolorean is a five piece band which serves as the primary vehicle for singer/songwriter Al James. Their earliest proper album, Not Exotic, is a glorious vestige of Midwestern Americana encapsulated into beautifully structured melodies. There are elements of country and bluegrass present, but it is first and foremost a folk record.
Album opener "Morning Watch" subtly sets an appropriately serene mood before jettisoning the dawn for the more convivial "Traded for Fire" and "Jenny Place Your Bets". Both are wonderfully envisioned tracks that, at least stylistically, seem to serve as companion pieces to each other.
The real gem of the album, both lyrically and musically, is "Sleeperhold". With it's Biblical intonations and intricately delicate melody, "Sleeperhold" ranks quite high in the top twenty tracks of 2003.
With sophomore record Violence in the Snowy Fields, James and co. expounded upon their Americana slant and added a harmonious CSNY vocal element to the mix. The title track and "The Search" stand as some of their finest work - and perhaps the closest Dolorean ever comes to letting loose.
"My Grey Life (Second Chances)" would fit magnificently in the closing credits of some darkly bitter drama. "I believe in second chances, for everyone. . .but you." Brilliant.
You Can't Win, with its artistically chic cover shot, has become perhaps the most successful of Dolorean's records - at least from a critical standpoint. "Heather Remind Me How This Ends" is a song so hauntingly alluring it will stick with you for weeks afterwards.
The ninth cut from the record, titled for the coordinates of the area where ex-Beach Boy Dennis Wilson's ashes were scattered, is absolutely spellbinding. Its construction consists of merely scant instrumentation and wordless singing, but the execution is nothing short of sublime.
Dolorean is a phenomenal act with few contemporaries that can even approach their mastery of the nearly-lost Americana genre.
If their previous work is any indication, it can only get better from here. . .
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