James

Picture a street in working-class Baltimore some 30 years ago. Kids play in the shadows of the row houses that line the sidewalks. Their parents sit on the stoops leading up to front doors. It all seems normal at first glance. This is where Eliot Bronson grew up. Yeah, he often wanted to slip away from there, but the first thing he saw once he exited was the Pentecostal Church across the street where his father and grandfather had preached and where congregants spoke in tongues. At age 15, he got his first guitar and started teaching himself to play. quot;Right away, I wanted to write my own songs,quot; he says. quot;My house was pretty chaotic, crazy, and unhealthy, so I took to music like it was a life raft. It was something I could do to keep myself alive.quot; Punk rock was his shelter at first. Then one day his dad put on a few of his favorite LPs - Bob Dylan's The Times They Are A-Changin', something by Brownie McGhee and Sonny Terry. Eliot had heard these albums a thousand times before. This time, though... quot;... it resonated with me,quot; Eliot says. quot;It wasn't just in the background. I tuned into it for the first time. There was a magic and a power there. It didn't talk down to the listener but it was also high art. It asked you to be smart and to become a better version of yourself. For me, this was a moment when it became my music, not just my parents' music.quot; From local coffee houses and venues beyond Baltimore, Bronson sharpened his writing and performance. He cultivated a working approach that involved singing to himself as ideas came to him and never jotting down chord changes or lyrics once he had committed the finished version to memory. Astute observers saw something different in the young artist's work. The Baltimore Sun even anointed him quot;a folk singing wunderkind.quot; Expanding his range, Bronson toured as one-half of a duo. They moved to Atlanta and picked up a gig in a room frequented by The Indigo Girls, John Mayer, Shawn Mullins and other discerning clientele. When his partner quit to take a sensible non-musical job, Bronson persisted on his own. He issued several solo albums, including a self-titled release in 2014 that prompted Glide Magazine to describe him as quot;a gorgeous, magnificent hybrid of (Ryan) Adams, Jason Isbell and Jim James.quot; Bronson's latest album. James offers songs that are more like pictures than movies, capturing moments and digging deeply into their meanings. A stomping beat, raw harmonica and searing electric slide, followed by a selection of songs that only confirm Bronson's restless, escalating excellence. quot;I had mixed feelings about writing this because I don't like inserting my political or social beliefs into art,quot; he explains. quot;Art should be about connecting people, not drawing lines between them. But I was listening to Dylan's Desire album at the time, especially 'Hurricane.' I always wanted to write a song like that. Known for his empathetic work with Sturgill Simpson, Chris Stapleton, Jason Isbell and other utterly original artists, producer Dave Cobb played a critical role in bringing James to fruition. quot;His honesty and old-fashioned vibe were so appealing to me,quot; Bronson says. quot;They leant themselves to the way I created. And, of course, it was a huge boost to have this great artist/producer at your back.quot;