Sundays In Radio

The world has gone mad. In case you haven’t noticed, it went mad a long time ago. So, what’s a good man to do when everything is all wrong? He can holler his lungs out like a drunken hobo holed up in a thunderstorm under an overpass on the outskirts of Paradise City, or gently sing his kid to sleep in the warmth and safety he’s managed to carve out of the junkyards of society. If you are Douglas September, you do that and a lot more in between.
From the rattlin’ bones, filtered beats and sonic mayhem of “Try the Devil”, to the sublime atmospheric lullaby qualities of “She’s Never Been to New York”, Douglas September’s latest release Sundays In Radio is an exercise in extremes. Rat-rage, anger, befuddlement, humor, thoughtful existential musings and stream-of-consiousness ramblings on street politics, family life, love, and apocalyptic terror imbue this self- produced collection with the sharp critical eye, and downright fury one has come to know and expect from such a totally self-made, maverick artist.
Continuing in the reinvented traditions he forged with Oil Tan Bow (co-produced with musical comrades-in-arms David Torn & Robby Aceto) September plants the seeds of his roots-tinged songs in the unyielding emotional landscape of the 21st Century and grows a bed of roses. He builds a chicken shack out of cast-off scrap like an insane architect with a belly full of rum. He sings like he’s gone to hell and back; Orpheus to his vagabond Euridice, choking on the fateful flowers of the nano-machine age; determined to climb the stair and never look back.
Less referential in style than his previous indie outings 10 Bulls or Io, the kinships he shares with such cultural icons as Bob Dylan and Tom Waits (to whom he is often compared) become a passing subtext. You are instead catapulted directly into his highly personalized universe of hope and dread. As ever, it is easy to draw literary and artistic reference to much of his work. Faulkner, Steinbeck, William Gibson, Jonathan Lethem, Neal Stephenson and many others spring to mind when cracking open the window on this bruised psyche. Sublime, and at times frightening, this cd should firmly solidify what is rightly a growing reputation for re-invention and incredible originality.
Listen, get drawn in. “…In your mind, you aint comin back…” – Robby Aceto, September, 2008