Sin, redemption, judgement, betrayal, vengeance, tired angels, grinning devils, whiskey bottles and empty beds are the primal stuff of American folk and country music. And they turn up in spades on the debut record from Portland, Oregon’s Flatirons.
Mostly known as a hot cover band for classic country tunes, the band is a popular one in the taverns and clubs of the Pacific Northwest. They surprised nearly all of their local fans by emerging from the studio with a platterful of dark, earthy songs they mostly wrote and arranged themselves.
Founded on the smoky alto of Wendy Pate and dressed up by lead guitarist Jason Okamoto, Prayer Bones is immediately likeable, and it rewards repeated listenings. The songs frequently draw on the darkly religious imagery of traditional country music. “I’ll never get to heaven/I’m reaping what I sow,” Pate sings in “The Devil Lives in Dallas”, which starts off as an Appalachian ballad, a slowly plucked banjo accompanying the vocal. The song mutates into a slow, ominous march, paced by drummer Richard Cuellar’s gallows-climbing drumrolls.
“Three Crosses” showcases Pate, guitarist Scott Weddle and bassist Matt Voth in three-part harmony borrowed from Southern white gospel. Love is usually doomed in the Flatirons’ world. “There’s a noose around my neck and shackles around my heart,” from “High Lonesome Moon,” is a typical sentiment. In “Hearts on Fire,” Okamoto has written a song that, in a just world, would ring from the jukeboxes of a thousand honky-tonk bars, complete with tasteful steel-guitar licks and a protagonist whose heart burns for someone other than her husband.
For me, the centerpiece of Prayer Bones is Weddle’s “By Yourself,” in which a loner takes an unflinching look at his empty life. “Blame your grandfathers, or anyone else/You got here all by yourself,” Pate sings in a drawl tinged with neither pity nor mercy. Behind her, simple chords and notes are plucked on one acoustic and one electric guitar. Like the rest of Prayer Bones, the song is somber and brooding, but there’s something quietly hopeful in the band’s delivery.
Prayer Bones‘ production is pretty murky. Some of the lyrics have that not-quite-finished feel common to records by first-timers. Other reviewers have carped about the band’s cover of Ozzy Osbourne’s “Crazy Train,” but, not being much of a hard-rock fan myself, I like this version. Overall the Flatirons have a solid background in country and folk music, and this record is a solid first step toward staking out their own territory within that landscape.
(Checkered Past, 1999)
