Ryan Davis & the Roadhouse Band’s New Threats From the Soul features another seven jam-packed tracks that require ample time for listeners to appreciate fully. Davis, a Louisville, Kentucky native (now stationed across the Ohio River in Jeffersonville, Indiana), was the leader of the band State Champion. His work with the Roadhouse Band sees him achieve the same level as his idols, as opposed to his former band’s “punked-up country gunk”. New Threats From the Soul further establishes Davis as a unique and essential voice, carrying the torch for those still trying to make sense of this banal yet transcendent existence.
When listening to Ryan Davis & the Roadhouse Band, the obvious and immediate reference is Silver Jews. David Berman had such a unique style that anybody remotely sounding like him must really be trying. Still, somehow Davis sounds distinct. While Silver Jews’ biggest fans must admit that Berman wasn’t much of a singer, his voice still resonated, in large part due to the revelations he imparted through his poetic imaginings. Davis again proves he possesses that quality in spades. Who else would describe their existence as “A slew of mismeasurements between the place where I stand and the place where I will rest”?
On his previous record, Dancing On the Edge (2023), Davis’ long-form metaphors sounded plucked from Berman’s journals, but New Threats From the Soul comes across as even more abstract. This time around, there’s nothing quite so immediate as the imagery of a junk drawer heart or likening a humdrum weekend to that of Emperor Constantine. However, worldly wisdom can still be found on tracks like “Monte Carlo / No Limits”, where we learn that the singer has exhausted second chances (“I’m skimming hundreds from the drawer / Just to spend them in the company store”) thanks to poor decision-making. The tale makes all the more sense when we learn that he actually crashed his Monte Carlo, not just parked it in the street.
Some of the songs, like “The Simple Joy”, are so jam-packed with ideas that it’s hard to parcel out the meaning of each. Consider the mental gymnastics required for this brilliant concept: “I’ve been making business cards / From community boards / Since I was a boy / Now I’m trading my doubles for the / Circuit judge’s home address.” Pair that with other lyrics comparing his school to a dunk-tank clown, his ribcage to a loony bin, and his love to a cow lying down. At one point, Davis even asks if we’re getting closer to knowing what the point of this is. Clearly not, but it’s entertaining nonetheless.
If Ryan Davis is asking for a little more work on the part of his fanbase, that’s OK. The circular nature of his songwriting stands out because while most tracks technically contain a refrain, they only light upon a concept until that central idea comes around again. Listeners are asked to climb aboard this carousel ride only to occasionally be knocked sideways by a jarring pronouncement (for example, “They say it’s something like a miracle / When Dionyus greets the urinal”). The biggest shock may be in how Davis delivers the lyrics, but his irregular rhythm becomes natural when given time.
It’s not just the singer’s poetic sensibilities that need to be considered. The arrangements on the record demand as much attention as they go beyond simple alt-country structures. The pedal steel is present, as is the fiddle, not to mention the rich background vocals provided by Will Oldham (Bonnie “Prince” Billy), Lou Turner, Jenny Rose, and Myriam Gendron.
However, the album also contains flute, tape loops, programming, and strings, among other instrumentation, which lend each track unique stylistic qualities. It leans into the work of forefathers from Appalachia, those on Drag City in particular, like Bill Callahan and the aforementioned Bonnie “Prince” Billy. Accordingly, the interconnected “Mutilation Springs” and “Mutilation Falls” sound similar to those best releases by Smog.
Ryan Davis sounds caught between two worlds, one that is spiritual and the other mundane. The sense of humor is still there, with some real knee slappers (“I left my true love in a West Lafayette escape room”), but as the title track suggests, he’s battling a formidable adversary—himself. While the singer laments about letting his love go, he recognizes that he’s spent one too many late nights, despite the knowledge that nothing makes her feel as loved as an early morning kiss.
By the record’s final track, we find the character penniless at Walden Pawn on Spring (not to be confused with Thoreau’s penultimate chapter about spring). Metaphorically speaking, he’s grieving, amazed at the mess he’s made. He’s lost everything but is still waiting for a message from the spirit world, never mind his designs for a quick exit (“Yes, I have a plan / And my plan is to bolt / A kiss to the ATM before I go”).
New Threats From the Soul contains no shortfall of paradoxes. One must imagine that these are the mysteries Ryan Davis sees in the world that surrounds him and even within himself. He lays it all bare for those just not brave enough to come to terms. We’re world-weary, yes, but transcendence can be found in any number of places, including the simple patterns of everyday life.