HECTIC HOBO’S ‘AMERICAN BISON’: ‘A GAS STATION OF A PETTING ZOO’
The Americana-rock band’s new album is another round of good whiskey and campfire stories, fuller bodied with higher complexity.
By Paddy Teglia
ALBUM REVIEW
Hectic Hobo’s new album “American Bison,” was released 11.11.22. Image courtesy of Hectic Hobo
Straight out of the gate this album wants you to want more of the story.
Hectic Hobo has always made us find a different way through life’s moments. Time and time again they spin a yarn that makes us see even the smallest of moments through the largest lens.
There is a Jim Steinman feeling to the operatics of Hectic Hobo’s new album “American Bison” that makes the listener feel every word spoken. As you dig deeper into the album you can feel the narrative wind, and unwind, into the cruel nature of what folks have to go through as we tumble through strings, keys, and the breath of each step we take.
“Through all the trouble and all the strife…” seems to be the thesis of this album. “Midnight Ricky” comes across as a painful eulogy to a lost little brother that you can no longer yell at, or help. The anger in the lyrics brings to mind two people that were at fault, from the perspective of a helpless third party.
I will say, it’s hard to tell if the underlying story is genuine or a story written by the band. Either way, it’s captivating and wonderful. Only a few tracks in and I wonder if I should congratulate them or give them a hug. There are parts of this that make me think of a Dream Theater album I heard years ago.
The entirety of the “American Bison” album feels personal. Fact or fiction, I’m invested. I care about the characters in this album more than some long standing characters in films, books, or television programs.
“A single spinning planet we inherited for free” is the notion that we all need to realize. “Daddy was a Preacher” ties into the idea of music over church. If you’ve made it this far into the album you already understand that Sharon Jones, Ray Charles, or John Prine are far wiser than your local pastor. Not to discredit pastors, ministers, or reverends. I mean, we always have Al Green, or the Right Reverend Cleophus James (James Brown).
The whole album ties itself together culminating in finding your way out of town with “Bus Pass.” You can either use it, or you don’t have to. Can you afford to belong? How can you get along with a gathering society? A nod to the clubs for sure, which feels like the confusion of the outsider, but an old hat day for the “regular” folks.
A wind down comes with “Salt Lake City”—a tongue in cheek ballad to a repressive state that pushed the titular character to the brink. A brilliantly designed Dear John letter to an unrelentingly “inclusive” and “humane” people.
But, you know, you can always go “back to Texas” (last track).
Top to bottom, Hectic Hobo has done it once again. I’m sure after another listen I’ll find another storyline, but I feel comfortable with this one. What a great album. Seriously.
