Whiskey Folk Ramblers, Vincent Neil Emerson, Al Scorch

Like the soundtrack to a spaghetti western set in the Dust Bowl, Whiskey Folk Rambler's "folk noir" blends ominous, reverb-dripping guitars with boot-stomping train beats and funereal horns to create sonic backdrops for down-on-your-luck ballads and beer-soaked anthems.

Their music is the sound of a union meeting at its drunkest, of a last-resort robbery gone awry, of mice and men and the lengths they'll go to forget about their troubles. From catchy singalongs to moody shuffles, Whiskey Folk Rambler's sound takes American roots music down a road less traveled, where even the Devil might be waiting to raise a toast. ~ Steve Steward


"You can smell the heartache on my breath," declares singer-songwriter Vincent Neil Emerson on "Lady Luck," the opening tune of his new self-titled EP. More dramatically, you can hear the heartache loud and clear in this cherub-faced musician's extraordinary voice. Fitting somewhere between the nasal mournfulness of James Taylor and the cheeky self-awareness of Sufjan Stevens, Emerson has a beautiful, lilting delivery that, like his delicate and silky acoustic guitarwork, takes its time making a point but doesn't bore with that unhurried ease.

The EP offers a tasty plate of lo-fi coffeehouse folk-blues, just Emerson and his ax (barely) keeping each other company in a hushed studio. "Two Hearts" is even sadder than "Lady Luck," if that's possible, as Emerson ponders split personalities and wrecked romances. Believe it or not, tempo and mood start to pick up with the next tune, "Easy to Die" –– Emerson plays a series of quick repeating chords like chimes while he sighs, "I've been dreaming lately of the life I used to know / Where the world was an easy place to be."

The EP's slightly more upbeat closer, "Southern Belle," begins with the priceless couplet: "I fell in love with a nice young girl / Who came from hell." The aristocratic young Dixie woman in question spends a lot of time pondering whether Emerson is too much of a loser to bother with, but listeners know better. This young musician is a keeper, an artist with that rare ability to keep you hanging on every minor chord change and bluesy inflection. –– Jimmy Fowler (The Fort Worth Weekly}


"Less than a minute is all it takes for Fort Worth singer/songwriter Vincent Neil Emerson to make a powerful impression, singing of "smelling heartache on [his] breath" in Lady Luck, the first of four tracks found on his new eponymous EP.

Emerson's voice is backed by nothing more than acoustic guitar, but throughout this 13-minute showcase, the 22-year-old repeatedly demonstrates a flair for evoking life's extremes — love, death — in economical, emotional language. ( "Easy to Die" even packs a heartrending twist into its three and a half minutes: "Life can be so hard/But don't you close them eyes," Emerson pleads.) It's a striking collection, and one which suggests a star being born. " - Star Telegram


Grafting literate, character-driven songs and Mid-American roots onto a post-punk DIY sensibility, Chicago-based songwriter, performer and instrumentalist Al Scorch is at the forefront of a bold musical frontier. A songwriter, vocalist, claw-hammer banjoist and rambunctious force of nature, Scorch –– solo and with his shifting collective of musicians –– regales audiences across the U.S., the UK and Ireland, "…breathing fire and brimstone," as Alan Harrison, No Depression testifies

In his first full-length release, Tired Ghostly Town, Scorch delivers jubilant anthems and poignant reflections in 10 songs populated with a cast of vibrant characters. The protagonist wishing for a pair of gold cuff links to accompany his beau to her daddy's funeral; the deserting Civil War soldier headed across destroyed cotton fields beckoning to "Miss Rosie"; or a hearse driver bound for the cemetery accompanied by a sonorous clarinet. Scorch doesn't just introduce these denizens, he inhabits them.

"It's all composites – myself and people I see on the street," he professes. "As I watch people walk by, I can stare at each of them and come up with a story of who they are, where they're going, why their jacket is that color, why the stain is on the front of it, why they're holding that stack of papers in front of the retirement home. I think my characters come from creating this feeling I want to get across when I write songs."

Creating songs for Tired Ghostly Town, Al woodshedded in a Georgia farmhouse, jogging in the morning, drinking copious cups of coffee and working for up to eight hours a day. "Songs and ideas float in the air past your mental eye until you're struck with a feeling that is summed up in one phrase," he says of his writing process. "It's been said before, but sometimes a song can write itself in 20 minutes."

A dedicated warrior of the road, Scorch commands venues from the intimate to the immense. He embraces the independence of house concerts –a loose circuit that extends from New Orleans to Portland; New York City to San Francisco and all points in between. "Flyers go up, phone calls get made, a Facebook page appears and everyone brings their own beer. It's houses, storefronts, radical bookstores and lofts."

Self-described as a "fourth generation Chicagoan, born and bred," Al recalls that his Missouri-born mother played banjo and had one in the house, while his dad played piano and guitar. The sounds of his hometown began with the Irish and Eastern European music transported to the new world. "The WLS Barn Dance was a radio show that predated the Opry," he notes. "Chicago has music from Appalachian immigrants and jazz musicians from New Orleans and Memphis. A legacy exists, so if you want to take lessons from a 68 year old jazz drummer who played with Ella Fitzgerald you can."

The ever-industrious Scorch is writing, recording, traveling and formulating new directives. Taking a clue from hip-hop artists, he is devising a series of mixtapes under auspices of "Al Scorch's Moving Company" as he explains, "Creating content between albums, I can reveal who I am and who I hang out with, and what my interests are outside of the music that I normally make, collaborating with everyone from rock 'n' rollers to soundscape artists."

As a student of musical history, Al Scorch appreciates tradition, but he is not bound by it. "Sitting in on an old time or bluegrass session, the musicianship is incredible, but it's almost like there's no mystery to it. I don't want to know, that's what gives me chills and makes the eyes well up –It sounds like an Irish ghost on a gypsy pirate ship drinking beer with a cowboy – what the hell is it? Where is it coming from?"

The same might be said of Al Scorch and a traditional instrument brought these shores by African slaves. With sepia glimpses of the recent past, the high definition immediacy of the present and kaleidoscopic visions for the future, Tired Ghostly Town reveals a young man with an old soul and something new to say.