Javier Escovedo a study in rock and pop contrasts
Forget for a moment his distinguished musical family and his distinguished musical history: Javier Escovedo has over the past five years made two solo albums that offer distinctive variations on pop and rock.
In 2012, he released “City Lights,” his first solo album after a nearly 40-year career with other bands, including the California punk-rock legends the Zeros. His new one is “Kicked Out of Eden.” The former is poppier, more concise, with a title that implies a bright point that draws you in. The latter is rawer rock ’n’ roll, looser, its title suggesting a departure.
“A good song can be presented in different ways,” Escovedo says. “I like to think these two records are very different but that the songs could cross between them.”
These recordings could frame Escovedo as a stylistic dabbler, but instead he’s a well-traveled, well-listened singer and songwriter and guitarist who knows the secret to mixing up rock and pop comes from the contrasts. He’s well aware that Lou Reed is one of rock’s great avant gardists and also one of its finest balladeers.
So “Kicked Out of Eden” jumps to life immediately with the hard-driving “Downtown,” but Escovedo has made a rock album of great nuance. There are some melodic guitar parts and sweet harmonies that suggest the Byrds and a pretty ballad in “Drivin’ Around.” A restlessness runs through the lyrics, at times tipping close to
Since settling in Austin in the ’80s, Javier’s older brother Alejandro Escovedo has charted a course through roots rock, glam rock and quieter singer-songwriter fare — sometimes accompanied by strings.
Over the past 10 years, Alejandro has dealt music from a hot hand, having put out five outstanding albums that often leaned more toward rock ’n’ roll. But Alejandro’s earliest solo work is also rich for rediscovery. He forged a strong, unique musical identity with “Gravity” (1992) and “Thirteen Years” (1994), both albums issued on the Austin-based Watermelon Records label, which put out great music from 1989 to 1998, when it shuttered. Last week, those two albums were finally reissued and pressed for the first time on vinyl.
“Gravity” and “Thirteen Years” are classics from an era when musicians not named Willie were still able to find a foothold in Texas, playing smart and interesting music of their own for a crowd of people inclined to tap friends on the shoulders and bring them to the next gig. Both are treasures ripe for rediscovery.