Ithaca, New York songwriter Johnny Dowd has always been fascinated by damnation and salvation – and how much more difficult the latter is than the former. Over the course of almost 20 albums, he’s mined heaven and hell and all the places in between for stories about cheaters, lovers, braggarts, and a host of other ordinary people. Mired in gothic architecture, gloomy atmospheres, and a uniquely sardonic perspective on life, his work has rightly drawn comparisons to artists like Nick Cave and Captain Beefheart. But Dowd has built a musical legacy free from the burdens of his influences – his records reverberate with a singular vision of how country, folk, and rock music can be smashed together in a riot of abandoned bodies, bad choices, and physical desires.
But Dowd stays far away from condemning any particular path; he simply documents and dispenses truth as he sees it. Some people are good. Some people are bad. And some people are stuck somewhere in the middle. And it’s here, in this ethically ambiguous middle ground, that he lingers and watches as people either accept or run from the consequences of their actions. His latest album, Homemade Pie, finds him continuing to act as narrator for the countless characters whose motivations cling to a moral greyscale, giving in to their lusts, fears, and assorted weaknesses while still hoping that their lives may be slightly better when the next morning arrives.
The album opens on a scene in a diner, where a man is looking for a bite to eat and finds the titular “Homemade Pie”. Buoyed by organ, rusty guitar riffs, and the angelic backing vocals of Kim Sherwood-Caso, the track finds Dowd setting the stage for what’s to come, presenting the story of a salesman and the evil left in his wake. “Out for Blood” follows on its heels, a carnival-lite romp through small-town ennui and an examination of the things we might do to escape its clutches. Dowd chews on these words and spits them out, leaving the syllables worn and embattled but possessing an unusual corporeal power. He peels back the veil between our reality and those which we try to brush aside so conveniently for fear of lingering too long in their darkness.
“Rise Up” admonishes us to meet the darkness head on and not to flinch from its touch, as organ and clanging guitar duel in waves of aberrant movements and Dowd lets us know in no uncertain terms what he thinks about Donald Trump. But there is also room for devastation of a different sort, as on “Ladies”, where he sounds practically lusty, bemoaning the fact that he can find no good woman. “Shack” finds him digging into a past filled with drugs, heartache, and other things that might arise from the complications inherent to relationships… and zombies. Dowd treats these stories with respect, even those smeared with toxic revelations and the tongues of devils. It makes for a compelling and immersive listen, but there can be times when the heretical can become a bit too much, and you wish the light might cast a few more rays here or there to break up the gloom.
Despite the downward spirals of so many characters across Homemade Pie, Dowd never becomes bogged down in cheap characterizations or maudlin generalities. Even at their lowest, these people are recognizably us – maybe they have made one or two (or three) bad decisions, but we’re never led to condemn them. Dowd implores us to see beneath the seedy superficiality and to try to understand what led them to those decisions and how they sought to accept or challenge the consequences of their actions. Anchored by an assortment of clattering percussive elements, corroded guitar theatrics, and a collection of voices raised together, Homemade Pie is a Lynchian exploration of the needs and desires that so many of us have faced at some point in our lives. Do we rise above our base instincts or give in to those primal impulses? Maybe we just need a slice of pie while we think it over.
