LEE HARVEY OSMOND? Yes, very funny. He's either the product of a parent with a very macabre sense of humour or else (gasp!) a satanic young offspring from the all-singing, all-dancing Osmond family cult, surely?
Thankfully, it's neither. LEE HARVEY OSMOND ain't a geezer, it's a band. And one of real pedigree at that. It features singer/ songwriter/ guitarist Tom Wilson (already acclaimed on W&H as one third of Blackie & The Rodeo Kings), several respected Cowboy Junkies (Margo Timmins and producer/ guitarist bro' Michael) and a couple of Skydiggers. We're talking “Americana-tinged Canadian supergroup in cracking début album” scenario here.
Intriguingly, though, while 'A Quiet Evil' IS a cracking début album, it may not sound the way you'd imagine. While it is primarily a roots-based affair, most of its' songs are built on svelte and sinewy grooves, with niggly guitars, snaking basslines and multiple percussion. Top it off with drifting, emotive pedal steel and Wilson's creepy, semi-whispered vocals (imagine The Blasters' Dave Alvin or perhaps a less barnacle-encrusted Guy Kyser from Thin White Rope) and something satisfyingly wicked this way comes.
High points are many and sublime indeed. There's the louche, North Country voodoo of 'The Love of One' for starters and the sound of the game being immediately raised by the ineffably cool 'Cuckoo's Nest' which – with its' star-studded chorus (“No Elvis, Sonny Liston, Madonna, Robert Mitchum!”) and gold-plated swagger – sounds closer to Happy Mondays circa 'Pills, Thrills'n'Bellyaches' than the expected Gram and Emmy Lou.
Which isn't to say 'A Quiet Evil' denies its' roots-y inclinations, for it also makes room for tracks like the wracked confessional 'Angels In The Wilderness', the rattling, Man in Black train song 'Queen Bee' and – perhaps best of all – 'You Drove Me Crazy': an exquisite ballad with Wilson and Margo Timmins swapping high lonesome verses and the band playing it with a grace and restraint that's favourably reminiscent of Emmy Lou Harris's great 'Wrecking Ball'.
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The album keeps you guessing from pillar to post. Its' latter half features a further series of belters like the gravelly swing of 'Parkland' (inspired by the JFK assassination) and the sinister, low-down noir cool of 'Lucifer's Blues' which has a sassy groove akin to the much-missed Morphine and a spoken word Wilson narrative wherein our man welches on his promise to old Nick when the old 'soul to sell at the crossroads' scenario comes into play.
With writers of the calibre of Tom Wilson and Michael Timmins on board, the need for cover versions seems faintly ridiculous, yet 'A Quiet Evil's denouement is supplied by a venomously snotty version of Lou Reed's 'I Can't Stand It' which brings down the curtain with grit and attitude to spare and shows just how hard this band can rock when pushed.
'A Quiet Evil', then, is a corker from the wrong side of the tracks. Its' creators have dubbed it “acid folk”, but really it's a heady melange of roots, grooves and visceral attitude which is simply a thrill to behold. You don't need conspiracy theories or snipers on grassy knolls to know this one will assassinate most of the competition.
Lee Harvey Osmond on MySpace
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