Cemetery Shoes

By his own admission, Oklahoma-born Johnny Dowd lived the textbook American childhood, “driving in Daddy’s car, falling in love and listening to the radio”, followed by an army stint and marriage at 17. It is presumably of these quaint, rural experiences that his albums, resplendent as they are with stained picket fence imagery, are created.
It is almost too facile to compare Dowd to the likes of Tom Waits, yet the voice is still inescapably world-weary, gruff and smoky. Tales of a life rich with love, excess and wisdom sound as though they’re being told from a well-worn barstool somewhere in small-town America.
The plaintive Hank Williams-esque qualities of his previous work seem to have given away to a slightly more modern, almost digitised or experimental outlook, giving his Americana a wonderfully unclean edge. ‘Rest In Peace’ and ‘Dear John Letter’ are somewhat reminiscent of the seedy, neo-gothic Nick Cave, and ‘Shipwreck’ is imbued with the tremulous quality of Sparklehorse. Given these cross-fertilisations, Dowd has moved into the rather appealing terrain where the likes of Gillian Welch and The Handsome Family dwell, and in effect Cemetery Shoes is a record with a genuine heartbeat that will appeal to everyone, not just those who profess to be country purists.
Ultimately, it’s safe to say that the army’s loss is the alt-country scene’s gain.