Separation Sunday Atlanta GA

Separation Sunday

The Hold Steady

French Kiss, 2005

http://www.theholdsteady.com/

REVIEW BY: Sean McCarthy

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED: 05/30/2008

If musicianship has gotten more diverse and innovative since the rise of the Internet, it could be argued that the craft of songwriting remained somewhat stagnant. It could be because that while the Internet can connect you with people all over the world, it also insulates you and shuts you off from your surroundings. If you subscribe to this view and you’re a songwriter, you’re more apt to write exclusively about what’s going on in your own head rather than about what’s going on around you. That may yield enough material for an album, but eventually, there’s only a certain number of ways to say “I’m in pain.”

Fortunately, this is not a problem for Craig Finn. While many singer/songwriter’s lyrical muse revolves around God or a cheating ex, Finn’s centers more around locations. Specifically, stomach-pumping emergency room trips, keggers, and bars. From these places, Finn tells of stories of lies, lust, and resurrection. Big topics, sure, but his band, The Hold Steady, back it up with E Street Band luster.

2005’s Separation Sunday, their second album, stands as The Hold Steady’s finest work (so far). Tad Kubler’s bluesy guitar riffs and Bobby Drake’s drumming give an extra “oomph” to Finn’s lyrics. Finn may not have the most refined voice in rock, but his gravelly voice is a commanding force, especially when it takes you on a journey, like on the dizzying tale of Catholic-style apocalypse and rehab. In one song, Finn tosses out such gems like “silly rabbits, tripping is for teenagers,” “I guess I heard about original sin / I heard the dude blamed the chick / I heard the chick blamed the snake / I heard they were naked when they got busted” and “Later on we did some sexy things / took a couple photographs and carved them into wood reliefs” like he was rhyming “fire” with “desire.”

If Separation Sunday were to be judged solely on lyrics, the album would be an easy A. Even so, the band, given the unenviable task of trying to match Finn’s lyrical genius, has no problems living up to this task. “Your Little Hoodrat Friend” has a chugging guitar riff that sets the mood of the song so aptly, you can smell the Schlitz reeking from the “hoodrat” subjects.