Mr. M
Kurt Wagner and co.'s masterful 11th album is one of the best to emerge from their strange, modest universe.
In Nashville—where the art-country orchestra symphonette Lambchop was born and raised—there’s a radio station that plays the old oldies, the real “Music Of Your Life” stuff, from the ’40s and ’50s. For a time, late at night, the station even played old broadcasts, anchored by a honey-voiced DJ who’d been dead for…
Nashville staple Lambchop’s latest, Mr. M , travels through each of its 11 tracks leisurely. It could be because this…
At this stage, it’d be mad to expect sweeping changes from a new Lambchop record, and the loungy, intricate and patient Mr. M (Mr. Met until a libelous baseball mascot got involved) satisfies the rule, for the most part. But in its four-year gestation period (the longest in the Nashville band’s history), Kurt Wagner has added a few, subtle strings to his bow.
Lambchop are exactly the kind of artists the word "singular" was invented for, operating on their own wavelength in a city of rather strong wavelengths—Nashville—for two decades now.
The prevailing aesthetic here adapts the breezy piano compositions of OH (Ohio) into a sound that hints at the style of big-band crooners.
Kurt Wagner dives deeper into weary, stoic melancholy than ever on Lambchop's latest album, writes <strong>Maddy Costa</strong>