Lackluster music, lyrics make ‘Dear Companion’ a disappointment

The opening track sums it up: "I had good intentions."

On the surface, Ben Sollee and Daniel Martin Moore have done something admirable with "Dear Companion." Part of the proceeds from the album will benefit Appalachian Voices, which seeks to end mountaintop removal coal mining.

But even though Sollee, Moore and producer Yim Yames call Appalachia home, this record might originate a few hundred miles east in Mount Pleasant. It's no indictment, musically or lyrically. If anything, it's passively mocking the ignorant and the ignoble.

It says, "Hey, meanies. See what you're doing? It's wrong. Now allow me to suck on my thumb a little."

And not only that, but "Dear Companion" is also self-aware of its minimal role in the issue at large. The cornerstone, "Only a Song," lays out the following refrain five times over: "But this is only a song / It can't change the world."

For a charity album, this one cuts like a butter knife. Still, wholesome and harmonious, "Dear Companion" makes for some fine folk bordering on pop, if slightly off target.

The eighth cut, "Try," is the clear standout. Sollee first masterfully plucks his cello in a slow, swaying intro that leads into a verse.

He speaks of faith springing from the gray areas of right and wrong. He speaks of prayer springing from the unforeseeable future. And then, following in line with his newfound fatherhood, he sings the chorus, "I can't wait to hold your little hand."

It might smack of a song fit for some inspirational movie about a dancer from the hood who fights the odds and yada, yada, yada. But it can also be adorable in its feel-good innocence.

"My Wealth Comes To Me" comes in a close second. While both musicians are capable of artful, precise playing, this second track presents the most colorful chords: outside the boilerplate majors and minors that pervade the rest of the album.

The words here are from the perspective of those who benefit from mountaintop removal coal mining. The off-kilter notes remain the only clues that something is awry. Although it's apparent the idea is to skewer the evil ones at the top, it sounds more like the duo is enjoying some shish kabobs out on a boat in the Caribbean.

As for the truly deplorable, two instrumentals meant to provide some breathing room in an already oxygenated track listing are just dead space. The title track is by far the worst of the bunch: a failed attempt at fiery bluegrass. And it should be noted that this couplet made the cut, somehow: "So why try, why even sing at all / I picture the Harlem Globetrotters dancin' like mosquitoes with a basketball."

Ahem. Excuse me. Seems I choked on my spit while guffawing.

Yes, it's an admirable effort, but perhaps Sollee and Moore should leave this one up to Appalachian Voices. In the grand scheme of things, this album is just a pesky mosquito: not sucking your blood, just sucking.

michaeltodd@dailynebraskan.com