by Mike Faloon
Daniel Romano
Sleep Beneath the Willow LP
You’ve Changed Records
My expectations were set to “dread” the first time I heard Daniel Romano. This was not his fault. He happened to be the opening act when Shadowy Men on a Shadowy Planet reunited in Toronto last summer. By the end of Romano’s set I was wondering if Shadowy Men could keep up.
My wife and I were on vacation and stumbled upon the show. I talked my her ear off trying to convey what a monumentally bit of good fortune we’d come across. We arrived at the club just after the doors opened. I saved her a seat near the stage. She went and caught a movie down the block. I assumed that I’d used all of my good luck in securing tickets and a good sight line. I figured there was no chance of enjoying either of the opening acts; simple math — it’s been ages since I an unknown opener did me right.
Daniel Romano took the stage without saying a word, just jumped into the tunes. He and his bandmates were dressed in country garb. I shivered, felt a flash of fear that I was in the midst of hipsters who were going to wink their way through some faux country, rock musicians poking fun at another form.
That passed about two bars into the opening song. The melody was so sweet and the lyrics were so sad and Romano was so sincere and the band, well, I kind of forgot they were there. I was hooked and my inner teacher surfaced; I wanted to shush the talkative knuckleheads back by the bar. This was some fragile, beautiful stuff taking shape.
I tried to decode Mr. Romano, figure out where this dude was coming from. I thought he had a snarl on his face, a look of “Damn you all for talking.” Then I thought perhaps it wasn’t defiance so much as squinting, too much light — literally and figuratively — too much attention. The band came into focus. The bassist seemed reluctant to be on stage, maybe even anxious to skedattle. The drummer’s efforts seemed to be on holding back, to playing less. So much of their collective energy was directed inward it was amazing anything was projected outward.
They allowed little time between songs. Were it not for the glittery letters on Romano’s guitar that spelled out his name, I’d have had no idea who I was so enthralled by. I scanned the merch table for a record but no luck. It wasn’t until I was home that I tracked down a mailorder copy of Sleep Beneath the Willow. It’s even better than the band’s live show.
Romano maintains the sparse instrumentation (which now reminds me of Willie Nelson’s Red Headed Stranger), but the palate is more varied, just as much folk as country. Obviously repeat listens yield more from the lyrics, too — tales of woe, disappointment, and/or crushing defeat are mixed with moments of resilience. The best touch, though, perhaps the strongest reason for recommending Sleep Beneath the Willow is Romano’s ability to arrange vocals. Throughout the album the gentle backing vocals — perfect in pitch and placement — glow like halos behind Romano’s modest tenor (not unlike Neil Young’s Harvest Moon in that regard).
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