Pitchfork

Having graced the pages of Pitchfork with more than my share of high praise for Matthew Johnson and his Fat Possum label, I was beginning to wonder whether, upon a more laborious inspection of Mississippi's backwoods, one finds the place teeming with aging bluesmen, both fabulous and curiously undiscovered. I wondered if perhaps Johnson had accidentally stumbled upon a now faded highway sign pointing the way to their enclave, and what might be this country's last vestige of raw, rural talent. The discovery of hidden gems like Junior Kimbrough, Elmo Williams, R.L. Burnside and Asie Payton seem more than just dumb luck or a good idea-- it seems like someone, as folks are wont to do in those parts, struck a deal with the devil.

While Johnson's secret contract may be earning him room and board (the Fat Possum catalog doesn't sell quite as briskly as a Britney Spears record, raising the possible suggestion that Burnside get his tits done), the only wealth and gain he can claim is the truckload of critical praise he's rightfully earned. With the release of T-Model Ford's You Better Keep Still, Johnson may also find himself a little hungry for that love to which he's become so accustomed.

Following the trademark Fat Possum formula-- a couple of remixes, some band numbers and still others solo-- Keep Still, another album from a seemingly unending roster of geriatric guitarmen, is at best a thoroughly uninteresting effort, if it weren't somehow wrong to use the word 'effort' to describe it. While Fat Possum artists have traditionally found success in their simple, raw riffs-- somehow hewing something unique out of chord progressions heard hundreds of times before-- the magic hasn't rubbed off on Ford.

When T-Model isn't sounding unpracticed, his songs are still unimaginative. The album's opener, "If I Had Wings (Part One)," a spoken word blues otherwise in the tradition of Taj Mahal, is rendered silly by Ford's sophomoric rant and wavering ear for melody. Sadly, the album proceeds in that fashion until it seems formulaic and almost purposeful. On tracks where the songs' merits alone might carry them, Ford develops a genius knack for destruction-- the only genius shown here.

Simple beauty and raw power are hallmarks of great, basic blues music, and it accounts for a surprising percentage of the Fat Possum catalog. And no one expects nuance and complexity of folk musicians, but as You Better Keep Still highlights, clarity and emotional power require inspiration and heart, two elements the album sorely lacks. Suggestion to Matthew Johnson: time to renegotiate your deal with the dark prince. At the very least, drop T-Model Ford back off on the same dirt farm you found him-- some musicians are better left unheard.