Michael Rank and Stag: Horsehair

There are albums that people talk about for a long time, important albums that make a statement about our times and/or create a sound never before heard. Michael Rank and Stag’s Horsehair isn’t one of those albums. It’s better. It is the kind of album people shut up and listen to, for a long time.

That’s all I’ve wanted to do since I downloaded Horsehair from Michael Ranks’ website: just listen to the damn thing, and nothing else, over and over. It’s the kind of album that you can do that with, because it’s both simple and beautiful, because Rank and his band address complicated emotions directly. No flair. Acoustic guitar, mandolin, violin, and two voices. No affectations. The songs sound and feel lived in and broken in, from a band worn a little down but not out.

Michael Rank is a rock ‘n’ roll lifer who has always worn his influences upon his sleeves. As leader of North Carolina’s beautiful, profane Snatches of Pink, he fronted a raucous train-wreck of whiskey-soaked, barroom sound that nonetheless betrayed a reverent ear bent to Appalachian traditions. It was as if the “Glimmer Twins” of Jagger and Richards found inspiration not in Howlin’ Wolf and Robert Wilkerson but rather Clarence Ashley and Dock Boggs. The wider world may not have paid much mind, but Rank has soldiered on into this decade with his band Stag. Horsehair is the fifth release by his collective, and it compacts a life’s worth of songwriting lessons into a tight package that rewards repeated listens. Its bare-bones instrumentation and soul-laid-bare lyrics combine to create a timeless piece of work that obsesses upon loss, love and the blind passage of time.

Rank’s songwriting has always focused upon the myriad challenges and foibles of relationships and the human heart, and it is a testament to his songwriting prowess that the theme never tires. “Change comes slow”, he sings in opener “Frontier”, “but time just flies”. It’s a ballad of lost passion, sung, as most here, in duet with Heather McEntire. “You lie to me more than I’ll ever know”, they sing in unison, “but you remind me of home”. The mournful violin that follows fills the gap in the conversation: we’ll keep going on, because of the reassurance of the familiar. It’s a theme that carries over into the next song, “Two Shades”, where they sing,“Once upon a time, we were something to behold” in poignant resolution.

McEntire’s voice may be the most prominent instrument here, equal parts young Dolly Parton and mature Victoria Williams, depending upon the song’s need. She channels the spirit of the former in “Two Shades” while on “Husk” when she sings “I’ve been keeping an eye on nasty weather, and I’ve been hanging around for one last waltz” she does so with a melancholy warble that Williams has brought to her later work. All of the album’s songs mine similar veins without ever losing sight of the ore. Rank is a master student of his influences, always evocative, never derivative, and often meeting or surpassing them in the peak periods of their careers that he evokes. He leads the band in the Stonesian blues growl of “Mexico”, complaining that “You’re just keeping me in a glass jar on the window,” then, later, calls to mind Ghost Stories-era Dream Syndicate on “Fire Walkers”. Like the late Nikki Sudden, Rank often makes you forget those influences and just enjoy the ride.

Horsehair is an album of beautiful, small gestures (like McEntire’s soft, heartbreaking whimper as “Trails” fades out) and simple, poetic observations on timeless themes. 20 years from now, when everyone has stopped talking about this year’s most “important” albums, I can still see myself reaching for this one, cracking a beer, and listening closely.

Give it a try.