James McMurtry, The Horses and the Hounds (New West Records 2021)

by Kloghole

There is a deep and profound emotional exhaustion that haunts me, and unlike most, it is not the result of the current pandemic. I am struck, however, by how the new James McMurtry record captures this melancholy and psychic desperation.

I recently took an online stress test and scored 38 on depression and 40 on stress. I have tried all manner of techniques to try to alleviate some of the worst physical and mental effects of the more than decade-long trauma I have endured. This past week, I tried listening to the new McMurtry record in the same way I would devour a new CD when I was 22. To get to know an album intimately, I would just play it over and over and over, pouring over the lyric sheet. There are still songs that pop on my random player that I immediately know all the words.

It was different with McMurtry. Although I listened to the album repeatedly, I simply do not have the time to focus on the songs. I am answering emails or crafting classes. I rarely sit still unless glued to a computer monitor. Eventually, I did get to read all of the lyrics, but not as the song was playing.

What I was left with is the sense that his new album is good, but there are not those songs that grab me that I ache to hear when I am away from the record for a while. Sometimes, I feel, the mark of a really good album is the fact that it does not have one or two memorable songs and a host of forgettable ones. The Horses and the Hounds is a solid album throughout with a great deal of consistency. There are dark lyrical turns that tug at your heart strings and just enough ambiguity in the poetry to keep you unsure of the inspiration driving the story.

I am drawn to the crunchy hook of the title track. It is probably the closest to a song that rises above the engaging sanguine lilt of the rest of the album. He does keep a bit of space for his endearing sense of humor with the line, “I keep losin’ my glasses.” Since I have a pair of cheap cheaters in every room, I can totally relate.

I should really take my geriatric dogs out before I head to bed. They need their pot pills, and they will most likely wake me up in three or four hours having to pee or, the youngest’s favorite trick, nibbling on her poop and spreading it helter-skelter like someone shoved a firecracker in a turd.

I feel as though I have emotionally lost the ability to evaluate music even if I like it. I have played James over and over, and keep playing it, but I sense something missing. I am not sure if it is in me, or I am longing for the feelings I have from his earlier albums. There seems to be some resonance with his line from an earlier song, “I don’t want another drink. I just want the last one again.”

Because there have been few albums that have made me want to listen to them repeatedly lately, I am going to give The Horses and the Hounds three sweet sticky balls.

Sweet Dreams Motherfuckers!