Resident Clark - "Horseshoes and Handgrenades" (Big Deal Records)

Album review by Danny Alexander

The first thing you have to deal with when you hear Resident Clark is singer Ted Horrell’s wide open, seemingly guileless vocals. We live in jaded, suspicious times and what used to be a hallmark of rock--at least the illusion of heart-on-the-sleeve honesty--is greeted with wounded cynicism. With a quaver like Cat Stevens and the conviction of Adam Duritz, this singer better mean what he says. If his lyrics ever show signs of contrivance, we’re out of here.

The stance doesn’t falter. Resident Clark’s unaffected rock--complete with stately keyboards, big stepping bass, and adamant drums--rings true. This band plays songs that promise a world of truth, and the more you listen, the more you are justified in believing. The album begins with a modern outlaw ballad, made real by its everyday courthouse details and family concerns. It climaxes with a moment of abject vulnerability, “Furrowed Brow,” an ominous rocker expressing a paranoia that will kill a relationship even if its fears aren’t real. Then it rebounds with the even harder-rocking “Push,” a manic moment of righteous clarity. The result is an album that digs deep into the places that most hurt, and, if you’re brave enough to let it in, delivers a healing hand.

--Danny Alexander