Interestingly, just as I finished reviewing Kinky Friedman's latest (here), Ty Weatherford's disc came up in the slush pile, and he's been opening for that country-cheeky cut-up Friedman, and it was in fact Kinky who insisted to Jesse Drayton that he come out and give a listen to the guy. He did and Moving Down the Road eventuated. However, if you know the Kinkster, you know he has a penchant for re-naming people and this gent's full Kink-name is 'Ty Jedediah Weatherford III' but his real moniker is 'Bryan Molnar' and we've heard from him before (here).
This time around, however, I'm also finding Arlo Guthrie along with the Chapin, McLean, Rapp, and other comparatives I'd mentioned two years ago. Someone even called Ty a male Lucinda Williams, and that's a pretty damn shrewd observation. However, let me likewise mention Edu Lobo (popularly known just as 'Lobo', especially for his Dean Friedman-esque hit Me and You and a Dog Named Boo), and then tell ya that when Drayton, who produced the CD, dragged him down to the jaded SXSW Fest crowd, he killed. That pretty much sewed things up. We may be all moderne and sophisticated 'n all that shit, but we share a secret soft spot for the old days and old ways, and Brian Molnar / Ty Weatherford is, sweetly and simply, a troubador. Hell, there's even a bit of Dylan in him—in the trad A Rovin' on a Winter's Night, but especially in his own The Good Ain't Doin' so Good Anymore, VERY anthemic of our times and a song that I'm hoping becomes a standard.
But can he rock too? You betchyer ass he can, a lot like JP Jones when that folk-oriented guy lights it up. Refer to Invictus for the proof, with Drayton wailing away on electric guitar, but don't expect more than that one-shot 'cause, as I say, this man's a troub, it's where his heart is, and when anyone can make Kinky Friedman get misty-eyed along with his usual whiskey-eyed, then you know something's goin' on. Throw on Moving Down the Road when you're tired of the raucous rock or the saccharine sweet Smooth Jazz or the perplexities of the avant-garde and just want a good, human, thoughtful set of tunes to re-calibrate things back to the normal and the everyday. In the end, I think that's what caught Friedman's ear as well. Amid all his excellent satires, smartassery, and cynicism, in hearing Weatherford/Molnar, even though Kinky's more than capable of the touching ballad and aesthetic reverie as well, he found himself thinking "Damn! I forgot it all ran that deep!".
Edited by: David N. Pyles
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