I don’t really know much about Johnny Flyyn, but he strikes me as one of those born-in-the-wrong-era types. The kind of guy who’d be better suited to the sixteenth century, herding sheep with just the clothes on his back and a guitar strapped across his body, sleeping outside every night. Or maybe he’d do alright in the 1960’s, hopping from festival to festival as both attendee and performer, running around barefoot and marking the success of his days by the amount of dried mud caked onto his feet.

There’s an earthiness to his music: the finger-picked guitar, the broad, deep intonation of his accent-inflected voice. And there’s a romanticism to it all, like he’s looking back to some era he’s never been a part of, but one he’d like to give you a glimpse of anyway because he feels an intrinsic connection to it. It doesn’t matter that Johnny Flynn is a modern boy from England. There’s something about him that’s beautifully un-modern, something that he’s embraced and set to music.

But I probably could’ve just summed all this up with a lyric from Flynn himself: “I was born with this story, it’s older than I.”

Sweet William EP (2009):

(mp3) Johnny Flynn – Sweet William

A Larum (2008):

(mp3) Johnny Flynn – Leftovers

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I saw The Wheel open for Laura Marling last month, and were there actually enough space to permit me being knocked on my ass, I would have been splayed out on the ground about a minute into their set. Lead singer Nathaniel Rateliff has one of the most powerful and affecting male voices that I’ve heard in a long while. He can be real quiet, low and grumbling. He can be sweet, lilting, almost Bon Iver-y.

But what really gets me is when he reaches down into himself: beyond the vibrating vocal chords and the bleeding heart, past the lungs taking desperate gulps of hot air, right down into the pit of his hollowed-out stomach. Then he shuts his eyes against the loud haunt of his own voice, and he just bellows. It echoes inside his mouth, tumbling out in a raw rush before colliding, absorbing itself into anyone lucky enough to be within earshot. But Nathaniel Rateliff booms, so in this case, the term “earshot” has a pretty sizable radius.

Rateliff’s upcoming solo album, In Memory of Loss, will be released on April 27th, and if its first released song “Early Spring Till” is any indication, Memory will be another notch in what is fast becoming an impressive musical belt. “Early Spring Till” isn’t really sparse, but it’s certainly not overcrowded either. Instead, it feels decidedly whole, featuring that gale-force howl of his, resonate harmonies and atmospheric electric guitar strums tip-toeing around the song’s edge.

Nathaniel Rateliff’s music is sad and slow and makes me feel like if he didn’t write these songs out, he just might collapse or implode or something equally destructive. And it’s this feeling of essentiality, this feeling that he really needs this music, that keeps knocking me (space permitting) on my ass. So give it a listen. And don’t be surprised if you find yourself splayed out and overwhelmed on your bedroom floor while Nathaniel Rateliff just keeps surging from your speakers.

In Memory of Loss (2010)

(mp3) Nathaniel Rateliff – Early Spring Till

Desire and Dissolving Men (2007)

(mp3) The Wheel – Whimper and Wail

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First feature by Alie, our new IndieMuse contributor.

I have an unabashedly soft side for The Hits of Today: the Cyruses nodding their respective heads like yeah and all those single ladies (wuh uh oh). But after an extended session of top forties, I realize that the radio has really just been rhyming at me in glorified baby talk laid over sick beatz. And I’ve been singing right along with every ga-ga-ooh-la-la, because that is exactly what I’m supposed to do.

But what about words? What about Scrabble-acceptable words used in beautiful, surprising ways? For these and other, non-linguistic reasons, I turn to musicians like Leif Vollebekk. It’s obvious that the guy has some sort of timeless troubadour quality, but what really warms me is his style of songwriting that is more hint than statement. Inland unfolds like a subtle run-on sentence, both musically and with inexplicably satisfying lyrics (The coming and going spirit’s in the door hinges / And I’m sitting peeling Suzanne’s oranges) that explode from nowhere, only to settle in quick and get comfy.

So Leif Vollebekk, if you’re reading this, you’re triple-word score all the way.

Inland (2010):

(mp3) Leif Vollebekk – You Couldn’t Lie to Me in Paris

(mp3) Leif Vollebekk – Northernmost Eva Maria

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