August 9 2024

John Prine's essence is oozing out all over Jeff Talmadge, coating him with a Priney sheen that won't
wash off. It's pretty stuff, with the same ability Prine had to write three minute novels that said as much in one sentence as most writers take a book to get out. Little gems glitter among Talmadge's trunk-full of treasures. On the title cut, Talmadge opines that “You can always tell a young man/But I guess it's true you just can't tell him much.”

A former attorney in Austin, Texas, Talmadge retired from judicial matters in '03 to pursue a songwriting and poetry career in Atlanta, later moving back to Austin, where he resides today. But
Talmadge's work doesn't have a Texas brand burned into it. It could be from anywhere, a roamer's journey from the flatlands to the high ground, suffering from road burn, heartache, and general malaise learning as he goes, looking back with a few regrets with the common sense to know a do-over would have the same results.

Talmadge lacks Prine's nasal twang, opting for a more mellow delivery, but his songs are as a poignant as Prine's, zeroing in on the lives of everyday folks getting a few moments of glory shone on them. “Maybe Next Year” is the haunting portrait of an old man looking in the mirror and wondering where his youth has gone: “He wonders how long this lucky old fool can keep on winning this wonderful game.” But still he keeps on going, year after year: “We never wonder if wishes come true/ We just keep wishing with all our might/And every year we say, maybe next year.”

“Katie's Got A Locket” is the twangiest of the bunch, with a bucket-load of sorrowful dobro from multi- instrumentalist J. David Leonard, who contributes a plethora of percussive sounds throughout the project, pitching in with various and sundry musical emanations from lap steel to cello to cardboard box. “Hurricane” and “Little Speck of Dust” chronicle how insignificant humans are when nature drops by for a breezy visit, leaving muddy wind-blasted mortals in its wake with little left of their belongings but wet clothes in the trees.

Like Prine's offerings, Talmadge's images linger on long after the music stops, a master class in poetry set to music.

Grant Britt (This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.) has been writing about music since the earth cooled a while back. A staff writer for No Depression, his work also appears in BluesMusic Mag and the Greensboro News and Record. 

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