Louisville, Kentucky native Jim James may sound like the leader of a crazy religious cult, but he is in fact the singer-songwriter of My Morning Jacket. With their sophomore effort, 'At Dawn' nominated by Dave Grohl as his favourite album of 2002 and a reputation for kicking serious live ass already won after just one UK tour, the five-piece are now fast becoming established here as underground darlings.
Having initially been released on American indie imprint Darla, MMJ's first two albums have now been reissued. Their 1999 debut, 'The Tennessee Fire' proves them masters of a poignantly dusty and dented Americana, pitched half way between the classic country of Neil Young and its reinvention by the likes of Grandaddy, with top spin added via a little Flaming Lips-like psychedelia. It suffers slightly from first album nerves and - at 15 tracks long - could have done with some judicious editing, but is still effortlessly disarming. James' voice - both touchingly uncertain and lustily true, and heavily reverbed throughout - is a ruinously affecting blend of Neil Young and Wayne Coyne. The 24-year-old singer's love of Roy Orbison surfaces in the twangily romantic 'Nashville To Kentucky', but he comes on like a tough James Taylor in 'I Will Be There When You Die' (with its mordantly witty proviso, "as long as you keep a straight face"), while 'War Begun' recalls The Beatles' 'In My Life'.
If their debut merely hints at MMJ's oddity and specialness, then 'At Dawn' plainly marks out the parameters of their private, gloriously polymorphous universe for all to hear. James has said that his aim was to create a world where "rock 'n' roll meets The Muppet Show meets Disneyland" and - were the album not quite so melancholic - he might just have managed it. In lesser hands, the 70-minutes-plus mix of heads-down rock, psychedelia and fragile alt.country could be an awkward one, but MMJ's magic is powerful. They audaciously set the sweetly mournful pop of 'The Way That He Sings' - which strongly recalls East River Pipe - against the bonkers 'Honest Man', a seven-minute, stoner blues epic born in some Deep South dive bar; they contrast the gorgeous, banjo-bedecked 'If It Smashes Down' and strikingly spare 'Hopefully' with the knock-about honky tonk of 'I Needed It Most'; every which way they do it, MMJ still come up smelling sweet. Bless their bourbon-soaked souls.
