Fred Eaglesmith - Tinderbox

I had heard the CD described as gospel for the unbeliever. After listening over and again and again, I disagree. Fred Eaglesmith believes in something, but, in his own words:

Fancy God

That God you got is a fancy God

And he’s not the one I know

He don’t live in parking lots

Outside of monster homes

My God ain’t in the government

He don’t put on a big show

That God you got is a fancy God

And he’s not the one I know

My God lives on gravel roads

And goes down into hollers

Goes down and saves the souls

Of your very sons and daughters

Your crystal meth

And your cocaine breathe

And your tingling to your toes

That God you got is a fancy God

And he’s not the one I know

Fred has gone through major changes recently. Last year his right hand man and long time band mate, Willie P. Bennett suffered a heart attack. Then early this year, Willie died. I don’t know how much of the changes in Fred’s music can be attributed to his friend’s passing, but to be sure, Tinderbox is a departure from the sound and style I am accustomed to hearing from Fred.

Spare, primitive sounds dominate songs with the beat and rhythm you’d expect from old negro spirituals sung out in the fields, perhaps set to the pace of a hoe clawing at the ground. Gospel themes dominate, but Fred’s version of gospel is more like that Jesus offered—that of someone reared in the real world, not the words of some priest or preacher—part of the accepted establishment.

Fred sings of a dark, forbidding world, a world that is killing him, day by day. He cries for rain, for mercy, for justice, a farmer on bended knee in a worked up field, a soldier back from war, a desperate outlaw, someone’s crying from the very back row in a failing church; the world’s about to end and everyone knows. He prays, and prays and prays. Yet evil men sit in high places and prey on those below. Once again, Fred’s own words:

You Can’t Trust Them

Well out on the corner

Of third and green

They’re dealing prescription

Amphetamines

And you count your fingers

When you shake their hand

Cause they steal your wealth

As fast as they can

(Chorus)

You can’t trust em

Their souls are lost

They keep taking Jesus

Back off of the cross

Lightning won’t strike em

And the cops won’t bust em

And all I know

All I know

Is you can’t trust em

And their ivory towers

They swing and they sway

As they count up the hours

Until you can’t pay

And your worth is figured

And your presence is rated

And all of their interest

Is calculated

(Chorus)

Bells softly ring

Beneath their steeple

They’re selling souls

And they’re dealing people

And the choirs sing

The coyotes laugh

And quietly they take

Everything you have

(Chorus)

Tinderbox is an exceptional CD - the best I’ve heard from Mr. Eaglesmith and crew in a long time. And that my friends, is saying something.

Tags: Fred Eaglesmith, Reviews