a cello on two tracks – conspires in creating such deceptive surfaces. He has an infallible ear for melody, and the technical limitations of his voice imbue his singing with an engaging sincerity. As he strays to the boundaries of his vocal range, his effort to reach a note translates emotionally as an effort to reach us, his listeners. He strains, and we pull for him – we're on his side. So it's jarring when the subject of his songs turns out to be a thief ("On the Way Out") or an arsonist ("Gone to See the Fire").
On Never Home, producer Danny Kortchmar helps Johnston relax his sound – a good thing, because Johnston's craftsmanship can occasionally be too pristine. "He Wasn't Murdered" and "One More Thing to Break" rock harder than Johnston has in the past, and in general, he comes off more like the singer in a band than a singer/songwriter whose songs have been too meticulously arranged.
Those rougher edges, however, only serve to emphasize the subtlety of Johnston's writing. In "Seventies Girl," for example, a young new girlfriend playing dress-up in the clothes that an older ex-girlfriend left behind triggers a disturbing meditation on how the past haunts the present. "Don't come any closer," Johnston sings, addressing the ghost flickering around his new flame. "There's gonna be trouble tonight/You're not staying over."
It's the sort of scene whose dramatic potential Freedy Johnston understands perfectly – the feelings we know when, for better or worse, what grips the heart is more than meets the eye. (RS 755)
ANTHONY DECURTIS
