Mix one part feed store name, bond over a mutual love of roadside kebabs and season with an “eclectic kaboodle” of indie folk-rock. Therein lies the guts of Ceretana. Recorded in New Fairfield, Connecticut – where one half of this duo resides – Failing East is a follow-up to the 2003 self-produced debut of Chris Mignanelli and Marty Moran. According to my abacus, that marks quite a bit of time between albums. Bear in mind, however, that these gentlemen boast integrity from their day jobs: music instructor and poet, respectively. The fact that their dual-city songwriting process echoes the Elton John/Bernie Taupin style of present-and-produce surely doesn’t lose any marks. Moran writes the lyrics while his partner shapes the notes and, presumably, both enjoy the resultant meat skewers in celebration of the outcome. Ah, carnivorous glory.
Not only do the boys trade turns at the microphone, but they offer a bevy of musical diversity to boot. “America,” the album’s first cut, opens with wailing harmonica before steering headlong into a gambol of frenetic tempo changes. The entire package paints a star spangled kiss-off to xenophobes, flag wrappers and those fixated on the nation’s industrial past. On the contrary, “Livingston” shifts gears into Nashville balladry. Complete with obligatory guitar squeal, the song tips its hat to a classic sound, while offering a modern homage to alt-country rockers Ryan Adams & The Cardinals. The sonic enthusiasm continues as “Zombies” bends a ’60s shimmy into a macabre groove, while “Today” packages the drawn yearn of a (very catchy) chorus into a metaphor for the highway as potholed love. Thematically similar, the gripping piano and acoustic plucks on “Nightbus” maintain a tender vibe, as the tune plays like a eulogy for beer-soaked pasts. And while “Shadow At The End of the Road” is hampered by what sounds like a plinky Casio keyboard, the closing two tracks are the most effective at siphoning emotion from heart to sleeve. Namely, “A Kiss” turns a slowburn barn dance into something more profound, letting its guitar take cues from a more sedate Use Your Illusion-era Slash. And “I Try” sketches domestic malaise against an interstellar pileup: “I’ve got a fondness for goodbyes / They turn the dimming bedroom light / On separate corners of a fight / Two stars colliding in the night,” sing the duo, echoing the feedback-dripped lament of a lost Kings of Leon track. Despite claiming different musical tastes, Mignanelli and Moran cohesively stake claim to the Yankee Doodle genre. Were there times when the complex lyricism felt ambiguous for its own sake? Perhaps. Some of the phrasing leaned a bit too algebraic to convey true brittleness. Did the less predictable time signatures – while certainly inspired – foster more of a herky-jerk cadence? Maybe, depending on one’s need, or lack thereof, to hum every bar. But when Ceretana taps the most vulnerable collective of their psyche, the poetic armor falls away in lieu of an unbridled, Americana chill. Or, in their own words, “like a promise, like a plea / like a kiss from you to me.” Pucker up
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