Joe Henry Loves Me Madly

I seem to be entering my annual Joe Henry phase. This is day three, which means I’ll go on for another few days or a week grooving in a JoeHenryLovesMeMadly funk. It also means that you’ll be repeatedly urged to love Joe Henry as madly as I do.

I’ve said it before and I’ll surely say it again: If you haven’t gotten addicted to Joe Henry yet, just go do it already. If I promise not to wax poetic about truth and beauty and the American song, will you just take my word for it?

I’ve just looked at a discography and discovered that I don’t have the two earliest, which must be where he got his tag as an alt+country artist. My digital files have different albums tagged as country, pop and folk. But I think you’ll agree this music is none of the above. There’s beauty (and truth, of course) in any one of the albums. Or call me and I’ll loan you a sampler so you can see what you like.

Just give it a listen

If you don’t love this madly, there must be something  seriously wrong with you. For one thing, NPR is letting you preview it for free. Give it a listen, then buy one to keep. Mine is preordered on Amazon.

Click and listen to the whole album. Love it madly.

Still loving Joe Henry madly

A week later, I’m still stuck on Joe Henry.  If you didn’t obey me the first time, here’s another chance to go listen to some Joe Henry yourself now.

Soundtrack: Joe Henry Loves You Madly

It’s too dark and rainy to be listening to Joe Henry. 

But I’m doing it anyway. 

If  you appreciate a perfect song, or a little poetry, look him up. Click this for starters. Or ask me for a little sample. Just enough to make you want to go buy some more, of course.

Butler and I saw him open for David Byrne at the Roxy some years back. With a groovy band and a female bass player. I was dumbstruck. A few days later, I was mesmerized by the album Trampoline, which I couldn’t stay away from despite the gloom. I’m still trying to erase from my memory the only other time I was fortunate enough to see him. It’s a really bad idea to go to Chastain because you want to see the opening act. (Not that I don’t love me some Elvis Costello, but this was a latterday, very Billy-Joelesque Elvis.) Anyway, the light was just beginning to fade, and my hero Joe Henry walks out on stage, just him and a guitar. And the obnoxious Chastain crowd doesn’t even pause its little tea party.  I was ashamed to be a part of that audience.

Trampoline is my favorite, but none of the other CDs have dissapointed me. I guess he’s one of those unpredictables — you never know what the next CD will sound like. Except that he’s never without a kicking bass player.