"Tall by Josh Small" is in stores now. It is available at most internet retailers and at select mom and pop record stores. You can get it from Suburban Home directly by itself or part of their pick 5 for $25 deal.


You can listen to the entire album in this blog post or by stopping by the Suburban Home Records' Listening Station or at Indiehq. The full album stream on indiehq has the html code in the player so that you can post the album stream on your Myspace page or website.

 
IndieHQ Music Player

Like the Libertines' record from last year, Josh Small's decision to go self-titled on this record seems not so much like "lack of a better title" and more like "what the fuck else am I going to call an album about myself?" Except Small's story is quaint, quirky and American. While his vocal-stylings are reminiscent of Ryan Adams, Josh Small is a little bit less pretense and Parsons-envy, and a little bit more poetic-frank and fun. Don't get me wrong, there's a little Parsons on the record, hell there's a bit of Parsons in everything, but you see more of a desire to create as opposed to simply create songs that might just make it into the cannon of pop music (fuck off, pop music IS the establishment). Small just doesn't seem especially concerned with the tired conventions of the "singer-songwriter," "alt-country" or whatever other coffee-house bullshit term we're using - a theme that is addressed in the songs "Old Josh Anthem" and "New Josh Anthem." See, the diptych describes, in as unpretentious a tone as one could possibly use to address this kind of thing, Small fleeing towards the boarders of pop convention. And a lot of Josh Small's charm comes from this new, naively enthusiastic approach to creating music. The kind of enthusiasm and sincerety that inspires him to leave the studio banter where it is or better yet to include some of the biggest bass drum kicks(?)/bottle breaks ever recorded, on the aptly titled “Look at Me," in the middle of an otherwise percussion-free record. This attitude is reflected in the sparse yet effective arrangement and production of the album. Small is all about taking the heat, avoiding the diversionary vehicles of a thicker production. This is Josh fucking Small and he puts what he's got right there on the table, be it themes of a soft and self-conscious type fo regret on the opening track, "Pushing Boulders," or the plunky melodies of his banjo, the sparce arrangement shifts the emphasis to the actual singer and songwriter aspects that make up the genre. All of these songs have to stand on their own two feet, sink or swim, etc., which is risky, and probably took the kind of gumption in the studio that most of us "mid-rangers" just couldn't hack. The result, when you actually let yourself listen to what is coming out of the speakers with as little expectation and preconception as possible, is fantastic. It is a sound that is closer to accapella, the banjo really only accenting what is there, as opposed to playing the role of the strummy-bedrock. All of these factors work to create something fresh and dynamic, and allows the songs the space to develop quite freely. The most satisfying example of this being the aformentioned "Look at Me," which disintigrates into a staccato banjo line that is pure gold when mixed in with the melodic vocals and brash bass drum kicks, a song that demonstrates such versatitlity when contrasted with the sweet melody of say, "Rock Island Line." Jared L.

No souls were saved because of Josh Small's missionary work. It wasn't his intention to spread the Gospel of Christianity while on tour with emo-core striplings Stop It!! - a strange pairing to say the least. Formerly of You Are The Drum, Small set out to convert the unwashed to his bleak brand of minimalist bluegrass, Depression-era country and bluesy folk. Religion wasn't part of the equation, although Small doesn't shy away from the subject. In the cycling banjo workout "Slightly Drunk," off his world-weary self-titled debut, Small, adopting the drawl of a Flannery O'Connor character, sings that it "Doesn't seem quite right singing songs for Jesus Christ/If your ship don't right itself, start singing for someone else." That might seem a little self-serving to Christians, but it's an honest and human reaction to feeling abandoned by his creator. There's not a hint of bullshit in his words and that's got to count for something. Partly because of that, and partly because he plays banjo, acoustic guitar and mandolin with all the fervor of a Penecostal minister, Small seems "bound for glory" as his gospel-tinged, skeletal version of "Rock Island Line" goes. "Setting Up" is Small's bittersweet lament to the folly of youth and a no-holds-barred assessment of his self-destructive ways, with Small admitting he's still "Throwing his weight around" and "Setting up dominos" to push over, like fragile people that fall when we aren't holding them up. Set to elegant mandolin and acoustic guitar, "Setting Up" aches with a Southern Gothic melancholy that's almost too difficult to bear. Then, as if in the throes of demonic possession, you'll feel your eyes roll back under their lids as Small launches into the acoustic slide guitar orgies of "Fall Motherfuckers Fall" and "2x2." Picking up his banjo, Small, after swearing about screwing up the intro and then laughing nervously about it, traces taut circles of intricate picking in the musty basement air of "Pushing Boulders." Hauled off to the drunk tank, Small then tiptoes around the swaying room in pizzicato fashion on the cock-eyed "Look At Me." Interrupted by intermittent bass drum thunder and the jarring sound of beer bottles crashing against a brick wall, the end of "Look At Me" goes from sweetly soused to angry. The mood swing is barely noticeable on the first listen, but it grows more palpable the more you hear it. Authenticity is a tricky thing to gauge, especially when it comes to someone like Small, a new artist putting his own spin on traditional Americana. But he's on his way to getting it. That he chooses not to adorn it with excessive, odd-ball instrumentation, like, say, harmonica or accordion, probably works in his favor. Though raw and unkempt at times, like in "New Josh Anthem," and, with all due respect, riddled with Americana clichés, this is music that's more sophisticated than you'd expect from someone so young. The deft, lively playing needs no decoration. It stands on its own, unapologetic and not afraid of offending, as evidenced by the gratuitous use of the word "Fuck." Gillian Welch comes to mind when you hear Small trading banjo and acoustic guitar licks. Only with Welch, you get a more comforting sound that's got the downy feel of a blanket; Small's Americana is worn down to the nub, like Will Oldham's. Who knows how many sheep Small gathered to his flock those nights when he and Stop It!! shared the same bill. His herd should blanket the rolling, fog-covered hills of Appalachia. If hardcore and this kind of lonesome, sparse Americana can co-exist, maybe there's hope for the Middle East. Reviewed by Peter Lindblad

Josh Small “Josh Small” (Popfaction) “It takes a month to write a song, sometimes longer” muses Richmond’s Josh Small on his eponymous debut, which by his own math represents a year’s work. The 11 tracks on this bare-bones recording feature only occasional harmonies and intermittent layering of Small’s banjo, mandolin and steel guitar. Nevertheless, the tone is clear and the mix level (except for the obtrusive found sound on “Look at Me”). It’s easy to imagine these unvarnished songs at an open mic. “Rock Island Line” is a nod to his obvious Piedmont blues influence, while the opener, “Pushing Boulders,” hints at bluegrass. But Small is more modern singer-songwriter than traditionalist folkie. His percussive banjo work drives some catchy vocal tunes (“Fall Motherf—ers Fall”). That knack for melody recalls Vic Chesnutt, as do Small’s literate lyrics and apparent antagonism toward religion. Lest his allusions to Thomas Pynchon and the Apostle Paul come off as highbrow, however, Small peppers them with obscenity and ire. Much of his verbiage is delivered in a tortured wail reminiscent of Nebraskan Ted Stevens in his pre-Cursive role with Lullaby for the Working Class (particularly “Setting Up”). And though convincingly melancholic, the introspective Small risks redundancy, given the record’s constraints. Wisely, he’s limited most tracks to a punchy three minutes. In all, the album shows promise and may earn Small a shot at a more polished follow-up in a year’s time.

JOSH SMALL SELF-TITLED POP FACTION This bluegrass-themed release from Richmond's banjo-picking troubadour, Josh Small, is a strangely disjointed disc that should have been left in the studio until it matured. While there are a few nice banjo and steel-guitar melodies on this album, most of the material sounds as if it was thrown together in a drunken one-night binge. Neil Young was able to pull it off on TONIGHT'S THE NIGHT, but Small is no Young. His pathetic stab at humor with the tired lyrics of the second song on this disc, "Fall Motherfuckers Fall", throws off the entire album. The third tune, "Setting Up", is a poignant, beautiful piece that is only poisoned by the song before it. Small has talent, but it doesn't shine through like it should on a debut album. -Dug

"I don't know what else they want from me." Josh told me this once after a frustrating show, not out of cockiness but pure sincerity. He had played his best and felt like the crowd wasn't feeling him (there was maybe 3 people there and it was an art show). This guy has publicly challenged Justin Timberlake to a song and dance contest. Justin wasn't around, of course, but public nonetheless. This guy vowed to audition for American Idol and lose for cursing too much. This guy won the karaoke contest at our local bar for singing The Commodores' "Easy Like Sunday Morning" with an impromptu and flawless excursion into R Kelly's "Ignition Remix." It wouldn't have mattered what song he did though, this guy sings like Otis Redding on top of Michael McDonald. I don't even have to get creative to talk him up. Sometimes banjo, sometimes steel guitar, this makes "folk punk" look silly and his proclivity for four-letter words mocks marketability. The real foul language though would be to write this off as "singer/songwriter." This is honesty amongst pretension, the Public Enemy of delta-blues, either the last of the soul singers or the new wave of them, I haven't figured it out yet. Be warned, this isn't punk kid goes acoustic, it's the other way around if anything. "You're the real shit," we tell him because he doesn't know. You may have seen him out-performing Stop It!! every night on various tours. He was the loudest one at the party. -- Glorious description by the mighty Jefferson Grant

Opener "Pushing Boulders" begins with a flurry of banjo plucks, which abruptly trails off into curses and snickers before restarting in earnest. What follows is a brief but compelling composition featuring Josh Small's stellar singing and banjo playing, but that aborted beginning is what really makes the whole thing stick. It sets the twangy tone of off-the-cuff straightforwardness that pervades and lifts the record. This Richmond, Virginia-based, singer-songwriter does it all on his full-length debut, blending his sweet, Southern-accented voice with clever banjo, slide guitar and mandolin melodies. Small can employ his tools to varied ends, all rewardingly; in the simple but beautiful "Setting Up", he asks, "Are you sad enough to wear those clothes?" and washes the chorus in a drizzle of mandolin as he repeats, "Can you hear me now?" "Slightly Drunk" teeters along with a steady, looping melody, and almost surprises you when Small whips out keen observations like "It never seemed quite right / Singing songs for Jesus Christ / So if your ship don't right itself / Start singing them for someone else." Religion comes up again in the wry but tender "Rock Island Line", as Small observes Jesus hanging out in a church's rafters, "waiting on rapture because there's nothing much else to do," but we are never clubbed with heavy-handedness. Rather, religion becomes another theme that Small juggles, alongside romance, bitterness and self-doubt. The album's most textured track is "Look At Me", an attention-seeker punctuated by what sounds like someone punching a filing cabinet and/or breaking emergency glass, while Small liltingly sings "It's all me, look at me" over a vaguely urgent staccato plucking. "Look At Me" hits the vein of self-awareness that dominates the album. "New Josh Anthem" and "Old Josh Anthem" are particularly self-directed; in the former, Small's insecurity comes across as he poses the question, "I'm a failure / do you think they're keeping score?" against a nervous banjo backdrop. The latter -- also the album closer -- is a thorough self-examination of Small's own music ("I used to sing like a Hammond B3") and his musical influences ("I used to walk like Otis Redding"). It ends with the repeated query, "How did you like my soul song?" echoing the "new" anthem's self-consciousness and Small's unassuming stance. The record is a modest effort -- even the liner notes are just a photocopy of a hand-written list tucked into the booklet pocket -- with not-so-humble returns. Josh Small's songs are smart and heartfelt, with witty, poignant lyrics and expert songcraft. The Virginian in Small bleeds through, and thankfully so. As such, in a gesture of Southern politeness, I will answer Small by saying yes, I liked your soul song very much. Thank you kindly. -- Georgiana Cohen