Bob Cummins Jr. | Good American Songbook | Big Secret Records | October 2023
There are two goosebump-inducing moments within “…But That’s My Life,” the opening track from Dallas-based singer-songwriter Bob Cummins Jr.’s Good American Songbook. This is a reserved estimate: you may get chills right when he opens his mouth. But the first indisputable one is when, about one minute in, Cummins’ airy, Brian Wilson-esque vocals and warm, dulcet piano chords are abruptly joined by a guitar: heavily digitally distorted, like a logically obvious anachronism that your mind still somehow registers as perfectly in place. It’s surprising but not disruptive: it should be, but it’s not, and you can’t quite wrap your head around why. The second comes a minute later, with a rambling saxophone solo emerging, completing a triple-stack of melodic counterpoint that carries the song to its fade out, drums shuffling underneath with relaxed precision and grace. The instruments don’t harmonize; they coexist perfectly, the production so deft that analog and digital bleed together as though they were different shades of the same watercolor paint. It’s songwriting and recording magic.
Cummins’ brilliance is deceptive in its subtlety. He’s old school but new school: as a songwriter, he operates under a similar philosophy to that of Paul Williams, Warren Zevon, and Randy Newman. He can be tender, sarcastic, or self-effacing, but most importantly, he values the melody that seems so simple you must’ve heard it but somehow haven’t. In this space, he’s all substance and no gimmicks. But the musical elements he plays with are a different story: his appreciation for video game music led him and collaborator/Big Secret Records label head Andrew Jones to track down the Roland synth patches used for Koji Kondo’s Super Mario 64 OST and integrate them into the perfectionist songcraft of the long-established greats. Cummins’ more experimental quirks persist from his debut record Shakewelle, but their implementation is less pronounced: no individual element exists in such a way that it demands sole attention. Everything is in service of the songs.
And what songs they are. Single “Could You Be My Magic Arm?” is watery and carnivalesque, those patches swirling and bubbling to form melodies that flow like a series of currents, evolving and intertwining steadily rather than suddenly. It’s mellow, perhaps lowkey, but far from straightforward: pay heed to the rhythm section and notice the drums are a series of sequential laid-back fills. The wintery ballad “You Were” follows, the piano keys as cozy as a fireplace, the cymbals are falling snow, and additional synths come in like cool gusts of wind, with a staticky voicemail cutting in to further enforce the atmosphere of sentimental longing. The soft and achingly gentle tapestry of “Making the Cut” ebbs perpetually but never violently (though it does reference Naked and Afraid, cheekily betraying the record’s late-’60/early-’70s pop atmosphere). “Know If You Do” packs in tons of delightful and strange vocal harmonies amid the toylike keys and mid-tempo marching drums, while “Analou” skirts ever so slightly closer towards modernity in its mode, vocals forward and bass-heavy, landing somewhere between lighter-swaying 2000s VH1 singer-songwriter fare and 2010s alt R&B while still finding room to include some wild alien laser synth passages.
The back half is probably even better. “In Tow” sees Cummins easily slip into a dusty saloon honky-tonk tune with jaunty keys and gorgeous pedal steel before the following three tracks see him return to the Wilson well, tweaking the form slightly each time. “Many Times Before” creaks, throbs, and wobbles around a minimal percussion loop and shadowy horns, almost reminiscent of early James Blake. “Done for Good” is just pure Beach Boys: astonishingly lush and romantic, with lots of rumbling guitar and stretched falsetto, as moving and immaculate as Wilson’s best. “Here (And That’s Alright)” – the longest cut at just under six minutes – features accordion, melancholy trumpets, and this underlying rattlesnake-like sound before the melody completely shifts towards the close. Good American Songbook ends on “Your Gold Chain,” the only “guitar track” on the album. It’s the most up-tempo thing here but still very deliberately paced: a humble jangle pop song that gradually builds into something truly grand.
It’s incredibly rare to stumble upon a modern pop record that feels so immediately classic and polished in all facets, especially from an artist who isn’t especially well-known and doesn’t have a plethora of resources at their disposal. Good American Songbook is all inspiration and ingenuity, endlessly creative and ambitious while devoid of unnecessary flash or desperation. It’s a massive step up from the already very good Shakewelle (Cummins has thoroughly purged the occasional spots of immaturity that cropped up on that album) and affirms Bob Cummins Jr. as Dallas’ best-kept musical secret.
Note: This review was originally published in Rantipole.
Travis Shosa is a writer from Spring, TX. They are the EIC and managing editor of Dodo Eraser. Their creative writing is featured in Stanchion, Maudlin House, HAD, Bending Genres, The Bulb Region, HAWKEYE, Some Words and lots of other cool places. They have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Their journalism has been featured in Pitchfork, Bandcamp Daily, The Line of Best Fit, PAPER, and others.
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