ALBUM REVIEW: Michael Fracasso, Saint Monday, Little Fuji Records
By Robbie Woliver
Michael Fracasso has a wonderful backstory. He grew up in an Ohio steel-mill town to Italian immigrant parents. His music background began with listening to AM radio as a kid, then attending country music jamborees, and eventually, after college, he became a part of the influential Greenwich Village singer-songwriter circle that included the likes of The Roches, Suzanne Vega, Steve Forbert and the very talented singer-songwriter Mark Johnson, with whom Fracasso now occasionally performs as The Pomus Brothers. Fracasso eventually moved to Austin, Texas, where he found the perfect home for his Americana-tinged music.
I have been familiar with Fracasso’s music since those days at Folk City in the Village, and he has always been one of my favorites. I was thrilled to get a copy of his new recording, Saint Monday, his seventh recording; it’s been a while in the works, and the result, I’m pleased to report is splendid. It will be released April 5.
Fracasso has so much going for him—an ethereal, gorgeous vocal gift and a knack for strong songwriting, with pervasive appeal.
The opener, “While The Night Is Young,” kicks the album off with a jittery, driving, rockabilly-influenced gem that easily showcases the raw side of Fracasso’s smooth, silky tenor. As with all the songs, the production and musicianship is impeccable—part U2/part Carl Perkins. He’s backed by Kevin Russell and Jimmy Smith of The Gourds, and his longtime bassist George Reiff and drummer Mark Patterson. Only an expert, and confident, craftsman would dare to write a line like this, and have it sound so brilliant “I’m sending home the army, no battle to be won, I found peace, love and all that stuff, while the night is young.” Hints of Leonard Cohen, eh?
“Eloise Eloise,” is Buddy Holly-ish pop perfection, danceable and sing-along flawlessness. Co-written with novelist Jim Lewis, even the lyrics celebrate the song’s musicality: “Eloise Eloise, the bass drum and piano keys, are pounding out a melody, aching for your love.”
“Little Lover “ is an outstanding song that straddles the worlds of both Dwight Yoakum and the British invasion. This treasure is packed with great lines like “They talk about her at the diner, like she’s something good to eat, just like sugar in my coffee, little lover tastes so sweet.” Fracasso easily slips into the roll of both Everly Brother on this one, and the song glides away toward perfection. “Little Lover” like so many of these tracks, is the height of songcrafting.
The gritty, dark “Elizabeth Lee,” is stunning. Like a taut rubber band, it stretches the perception of what Fracasso can do. With its Lucinda Williams swampy tone, this song about infidelity and murder will send a chill up your spine. “I had my foot to the floor, I had my head in a fog, there was Elizabeth Lee, I ran her down like a dog.” The full circleness of the song is simply genius—the done-wrong guy who works “down at the Pitttsburgh Steel” who “turn[s] a river of fire, into an automobile,” ends up running his cheating lover in a Coup de Ville—“the only thing in this world, that could give me a thrill.” You are in that steel mill; you are in that car. Stepping out of the box musically, lyrically and vocally, “Elizabeth Lee” is dazzling.
“Saint Monday” is a shimmery, dreamy ballad co-written with Lewis, searching for redemption. “This slattern hotel, she once was a grand one, in one hand there's a bottle, in the other there's a handgun.”
Fracasso’s sweet, yet powerful vocals and memorable melodies ascend to the heavens. The thing about music is when its perfect, every note, subtle nuance and syllable, fit perfectly, and that’s Fracasso’s expertise.
“Ada, OK” is about a home gone bad—the polar opposite of Miranda Lambert’s predictable and saccharine-in-comparison “The House That Love Built.” Unlike Miranda, there are no sweet memories here: “In this old house the doors won't open, the window's cracked, the screens are broken, believe you me it ain't worth hoping, in a house where love's gone bad. “
Sung with the fantastic Patty Griffin, this is an obvious country hit. Fracasso is comfortable in so many genres, without being a dilettante. His music is universal in a way that actually turns various genres into his style. Genre-busting—instead of Americana, country, folk, rock, blues—it’s…Michael Fracasso.
You want to hear a song about love and loss, try the heartfelt “Broken Souvenirs,” which opens with “Dear Valentine, the days are cold and dreary.” “Gypsy Moth,” is one of my favorites on this stellar recording, thanks to a jazzy, Beatnik-y bass and Byrds-worthy jangly guitar-driven groove, and, of course, that soaring vocal singing lines like “She gave me three wishes and now I still have two, I said, Hey now, darling, all I really want is you.”
“Another Million” is a fragile entreaty to a lost love, an elegy so soft and wishful; “All I want is another million of whatever made you smile.”
Fracasso’s one cover is John Lennon’s “Working Class Hero,” and it gets a dub reggae workover that’s chillingly good.
This is the essence of what songwriting, singing and music, in general, should be. Fracasso is an extraordinary rock songwriter, and his sublime vocals are beyond compare. If there were feng shui in music, Saint Monday would be order achieved. Perfection. This is an artist and a recording that simply cannot be ignored.
IN OTHER WORDS: Pop Perfection. One of 2011's best.
ST. MONDAY RATING: 10/10
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