There is always a deeper story running through Art Schop’s songs, not for him throwaway lyrics or offering up merely more of the same old, same old. And if these narratives and tales seem difficult to penetrate easily, that just adds to the mystery. Even if you never get to the heart of the story, you do get to revel in the well-chosen words and dark intrigue, eloquent poetics, and prose-driven poignancy that seem to run through them.
The same can be said of Schop’s voice. Some may say that his gruff tones are not for them, and I would agree that it is not a conventional voice; but it is certainly one full of character and personality, a voice as individual and beguiling as, say, Dylan or Waits or Cave or Cohen.
As this dark and gritty blend of raggedy folk and tattered guitars crawls towards the listener, as the song seems to break down and then rebuild itself, it feels like the soundtrack to a work by Poe or Lovecraft, something shrouded in shade and feelings of the macabre.
Schop’s songs are not always easy, but they are certainly rewarding, at least if you are willing to meet the song halfway. After all, who wants “I miss my baby” when they can have “Too cold to swim, and I’ve gone and jumped in, to remind myself that I’m alive”?
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