"'It's all here for the taking' is an apt metaphor for everything in this life. No matter how well you analyze, study or recompile, the healthiest and heartiest always come from the earth. Be it food, art, or the decay and dust that fills the cracks of a band like Cartright. The Austin band is worth making a fuss about for plenty of reasons--its home-recorded debut, A Tall Tale Comes Of Age (an assessment of violent entertainment), its sweaty and boisterous live show, its steadily growing cult of shout-along fans--but you've heard that shit before about endless, boring bands that concoct dream formulas of Merle + Hank + Frank Black.
Hell, maybe Cartright is a genius lab creation of its own. Ben Russell leads the quintet with a beaten-down acoustic guitar, finger-picked with a rare level of drunk precision, and he shouts his pleas of aggressive reluctance--a man lost in his Southern youth but unafraid to face it--through a sweat-soaked mess of hair and beard. The Cornetti brothers three on bass, piano, and drums, along with lead guitarist Casey, are a pack of howlers and stompers. Together with Lou's subtle necessity, Nick's drumstick crescendos, and the rowdy dialects of Joe's organ they stagger in time with broken rhythms blanketed by sleeves of noise.
It's easy to see why the young band already draws a cult fanbase; the easiest comparison point is Lucero, as both acts lean toward country-rock with a love for war-torn, cigarette-stained vocals. But where Lucero sticks to a harder, narrower path, Cartright leaves its swinging bar doors open to the acoustic exploration of folk, the erratic tempo changes of post-rock and the passion, the arrangements and the willful repetition that mark the best in the worlds of blues and gospel. It's a rich pool to draw from, sharing plenty in common with their hometown's country-blending alumni--critically acclaimed locals like Centro-matic, Little Grizzly, and Slobberbone.
And that's where the dirt, the soot, and the ruin come pouring into Cartright's coffer. In concert, Russell howls the line "Learning to die" so many times over and over that he might as well give a how-to lecture on it. When he can't get back to the mic quickly enough after shouting, "Oh, I shouldn't say this"--and this happens plenty--the crowd wastes no time in finishing the line: "You broke my wrists, but I'm still makin' fists." Those fans stand at the very front, lining an army of empties in front of the monitor, arms around each other's shoulders and sights aimed at the band's every strum, cry and crash.
The best things are in between a mess and a jigsaw, the things that fill in all the cracks and mend up all the scars. That's where Cartright stands, waist deep, yelling out their masterful wreckage just because they can."
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Official Website: http://www.myspace.com/goodbyebluemondayinc
Added by carlinny on April 14, 2007