The Silos have been making roots rock since before it was even called that. It was 1985 when Walter Salas-Humara formed the Silos shortly after moving to New York from Florida. Their debut album, 1987’s Cuba, influenced many bands in the movement that became alt-country a few years later.
When the Telephone Rings finds Salas-Humara making rich pop-influenced rock with guitarist Drew Glackin and drummer Konrad Meissner, plus assistance from original Silos member Mary Rowell, who plays violin and fiddle on a few tracks. This album finds Salas-Humara in an introspective mood, epitomized by the title track, an homage to terror-torn New York City: “Chilling autumn rains/make curtain skyscrapers/more beautiful to see/With the water dripping/I wish somehow I could wash/this perishing world.”
New York alt-country singer Amy Allison contributes harmonies on a couple of tracks, including the opening anthem “The Only Love.” And alt-rocker Mary Lee Kortes (of Mary Lee’s Corvette) adds her supporting vocals to a couple more, including the uplifting “Holding on to Life.” Stay tuned for the hidden track, a one-minute snippet of a children’s choir singing the chorus to this one: “Dancing along with your head held high/holding on to life!”
(Dualtone, 2004)
The Silos form the backing band for Minneapolis singer-songwriter Jonathan Rundman on his new release on his own label, Public Library, but the albums could hardly be more different. Rundman’s disc is a collection of hook-filled sunny folk-pop that explores the wonders of brainy girls, big jets, small towns, librarians and, of all things, church architecture. With a reedy tenor that could be mistaken for Freedy Johnston (except the songs he sings aren’t depressing) and lyrics that the Barenaked Ladies, Cake or They Might Be Giants would be proud to claim, Rundman’s recording should make plenty of Top 10 lists this year.
“Smart Girls” is the first single on Public Library, an earnest tribute to girls with brains: “They know the human heart, ’cause love is science, and love is art.” “Narthex” is a poppy love song that uses church architecture as a setting, revealing Rundman as a songwriter who is as much in love with words as with ideas. The third verse paints a vivid picture of people lining up for communion: “Everyone forms two parallel lines/moving up close to the front/steadily crossing the transcept/flowing like blood through a heart …”
The loping rockabilly “747s” uses simple internal rhymes to compare falling in love to the giddy sensation of watching a jumbo jet take off. Silo Drew Glackin contributes baritone guitar and lap steel to this hot rocker, which is followed immediately by the shambling bluesy slow rocker “Almost Never See,” with lovely violin from Rowell and resonator guitar from Glackin.
Elsewhere, Rundman finds metaphor for love in “Cuban Missile Crisis,” echoes every traveling musician’s complaint in “Every Town’s the Same,” and pays tribute to those upholders of the Constitution, librarians: “I bring order out of chaos, I shine light into the dark/because power comes from knowledge just like fire from a spark … I’m a librarian/and I do it for the love of the word.”
Public Library is not all lighthearted pop, though. In “Park River Bridge,” a man looks back on his survival of what may have been a suicide attempt. And in “Second Language,” Rundman paints a vivid but subdued picture of a young female immigrant’s experience: “When I wake up I speak my second language/I speak my second language when I catch my train/I work all day, I speak my second language …”
(Salt Lady, 2004)
