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Daughn Gibson
Me Moan Nick Hutchings , August 29th, 2013 07:02

Daughn Gibson is Daughn pronounced to rhyme with forlorn and Gibson as in American retro futurist novelist William Gibson. And though this is no Neuromancer, Me Moan is a new kind of romance – a maudlin one from a dark but optimistic heart. Daughn, the man, for he is by all accounts a towering figure of one, has a heavy burr and a deep tone that is a richly pleasing amalgam of some of the best raconteurs of the dark arts – Nick Cave, Ian Curtis, Tom Waits, Dave Gahan and Julian Cope.  

Gibson, a troubadour from Carlisle, Pennsylvania was the drummer from a stoner rock group called Pearls and Brass but his balls of brass were such he wanted to be up front not trapped behind the traps. He has a love of maudlin and macabre subject matter like that other great drummer savant Fyfe Ewing of Therapy? but the tales that Gibson has to tell do not need a driving percussion. That said, his experience of beats and rhythm is precisely put to use with the application of programmed and synthesized loops to underscore his sinister yarns.   

Since there is an electronic undercurrent to Gibson’s viscose and bellicose outpourings, this is like Peaking Lights illuminating Folsom Prison or Dub Narcotic Sound System booming into San Quentin. Stand out track is the deep bassline-driven 'The Pisgee Nest'. Also underpinned by Depeche Mode-selecting Korg oscillations, Gibson spins an expansive and gripping yarn about the “State Trooper’s daughter” that recalls Twin Peaks. If only David Lynch had Daughn Gibson’s pop sensibility he would be making Me Moan.   

The album really picks up the pace as you delve deeper and the twanging loops in 'You Don’t Fade' feel like Andrew Weatherall’s re-imaginations of Grinderman, but with a female incantation adding a piquant mystique. That plus the pan pipers at the gates of hell on 'Franco' makes for a triptych of brilliant songs that are all atmosphere and fear of a broken heart. I have to smile wryly over the way that Gibson curls his lips over an every “r”, particularly in this song and most pointedly in the line “run away from the campfire”. At these points I can’t help but think of Vic Reeves’ pub singer in Shooting Stars crossed with Chris Isaak’s supermodel frolicking Elvis affectation on 'Wicked Game', and I’m not certain this was the intention.   

This album recalls many a mournful voice of yesteryear - Greg Dulli of the Afghan Whigs and grunge's very own baritone beat poet Calvin Johnson - yet the musical accompaniment feels entirely up-to-date.With its mix of deep voice and sentiment with hooks and loops the'd suit a dancefloor, Me Moan is a uniquely epic album that puts the Double O into croon.