Born and raised in Bumfuck-Nowhere, Pennsylvania, Daughn Gibson probably knows a thing or two about lone country livin’. On Me Moan, his Sub Pop debut, he puts that knowledge to good use, offering up twelve tales of heartbreak, death, and day drinkin’. And Gibson even has the delivery to match, narrating with a booming baritone croon that oozes classic-era country. This may sound fine and dandy for the average country music fan, but why should any of us indie-rockers give two shits about this record? Because Daughn belts his low register over loops and electronic samples, creating one of the most unique blends of WTF you’re going to hear all year.
And it’s awesome.
Me Moan begins with a rollicking truck-driver-from-hell tale about an outlaw father and life on the road. As with most of the album, “The Sound of Law” is bass driven, and this one’s haulin’ ass down a dusty road. Daughn’s voice is haulin’ as well, yet the twists and twerks he strains out of his vowels can be tough to chew and swallow. Yet by the time “Phantom Rider” and “Mad Ocean” (two hip-stirring-finger-snapping tunes) roll around, his vocals sound less like an intruder and more like a part of the family. Gibson simply sounds better here, over a laid-back atmosphere. And it doesn’t hurt that the melodies and choruses are catchy to the level of clingy.
Complementing Gibson’s ear for melody are his lyrics, which concern stories that could be true but haven’t necessarily happened. Details are sparse in Daughn’s songs, and most lines are fragments of dialogues and settings. It can be tough to make out the particulars over his country twang, but repeated listens reveal that Me Moan is kind of a downer; the majority of his characters are drawn out in desperation, looking to get rich or die trying. And as with “Pigsee Nest” and “Franco” — the cappers of Me Moan‘s first half — most die trying. “Pigsee Nest” tells the brooding tale of a trooper’s daughter, theft, and a Barrett. “Franco” serves as the album’s centerpiece, a haunting account of a man and wife ready to change but unable to shake the scars of their child’s death. It’s a prom night ballad from 1985, both heartbreaking and beautiful from its first flutey synths to the twangy-guitar close.
The album’s second half focuses more on love, but there’s still plenty of loss. “Won’t You Climb” is a longing for youthful lust, while “The Right Signs” serves as a kiss-off to a regretful past attachment. These tracks are somehow even more sparse with detail than the rest of Me Moan, allowing the listener to grab what little they can and fill in the rest of the story however they see fit. Unfortunately the back half also contains “Kissin’ on the Blacktop” and “All My Days Off,” Me Moan‘s most derivative tracks. The former is a stab at ’90s radio country, the latter a ballad that simply arrives after too many ballads. Yet Daughn does close on a semi-sort-of-hopeful note with “Into the Sea,” a song about realizing your wrongs if not righting them.
As a whole, Me Moan can be a lot to take in. It’s a heavy album with quite a range in the quality of the tracks, and getting used to the vocals takes some gritting of the teeth. Yet the way Daughn meshes his melodic tales in his out-of-time-and-place voice with ghost choirs, ambient synths, and lap-steel loops is ridiculously refreshing. And when he pulls it off, Me Moan just plain works.
Me Moan