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Brendan Benson

Signed to label: V2

Brendan Benson is an artist whose name evokes vague recognition among some, but drooling, obsessive enthusiasm from those who truly know his work. “One Mississippi”, his 1996 debut, is a semi-secret treasure, the sort of record that’s bound to get lavish reissue and “lost classic” magazine articles in a decades time.

“LAPALCO”, the forthcoming album from Brendan Benson, took five years, (mostly) four tracks, three cities, two musicians and one career-changing major label stint. Brendan Benson’s second album was written, performed and produced entirely by Brendan, with occasional assistance from Jason Faulkner. Its dozen songs showcase a brand of rock’n’roll melodicism that’s both jangly and crunchy, wistful and witty, dreamy and dark, hi-gloss and lo-fi. As Burt Lancaster says to Tony Curtis in The Sweet Smell Of Success, “its’ a cookie full of arsenic”.

“LAPALCO” is named after the main thoroughfare in Harvey, Louisiana, where Brendan, the son of a welder, spent his childhood. But the record itself commemorates Brendan’s return to his birthplace of Detroit, where he lived out those all-important teenage punk years. Until a couple of years ago, home had been Oakland, California.

“I thought maybe moving back would help my songwriting”, Brendan says. “I felt really isolated in Oakland. I had friends, but they were sort of spread out. My girlfriend worked, so I stayed home all day fretting. I went a little bit out of my mind.”

Brendan’s woozy alienation from that time surfaces on the shimmering anthem “Folk Singer”: “Every single day at eleven I’m home in bed in sleep heaven / alone ‘cos my girl leaves at seven,” he sings. “Ain’t got time for my bed-in / she says ‘stop pretendin’ / you’re not John Lennon.’”

Brendan’s ennui was basically a hangover from the alt-rock revolution. He got caught up in it in the early ‘90’s, having moved to Los Angeles armed with a tape of 30 original tunes he’d recorded on a dual cassette deck, painstakingly overdubbing all the harmonies and extra guitar parts one track at a time via the ‘mic mix’ input.

A friend introduced him to Falkner, then of Jellyfish, and soon Brendan graduated to the sophisticated world of four-track. “One Mississippi” was partly a product of Brendan’s work with Faulkner, and partly culled from a more lavish session with producer Ethan John, best known these days for his work with Ryan Adams.

“One Mississippi’s” melodic Pandora’s box brought to mind everyone from the Raspberries and the Kinks to the Beatles, T-Rex and David Bowie. Critically lauded by countless US radio stations, journalists and college DJs , the only entity not blown away by it, ultimately, was Virgin Records.

“When they told me to stop touring, I knew “One Mississippi” was done”, Brendan recalls. “I wanted to start on a new record and put it all behind me, but I was devastated. It was my dream – my first record. I was promised the world. So many things didn’t happen.”

The experience left him with a wicked case of writer’s block. “I got so into my own head”, Brendan says. “Thinking, is this cool? Are people going to think this is dumb? I never thought about that before. I had a little mental audience that I wrote songs to, and they were very forgiving. It got replaced by managers and record executives telling me I’m not writing choruses.”

He headed home, and was able to quell the doubts in bits and pieces over the course of a year or so. “One day I realised, hey wait, I have enough songs here for a record”. Enter US independent label Startime, whose enthusiasm for the project stirred up Brendan’s own. There followed several UK labels jostling for Brendan’s signature. Finally, and happily, Brendan chose V2 Records as his UK home.

Brendan’s house in Detroit Belle Isle neighbourhood features a full recording studio, the one silver lining left over from his major label trip. He is hoping that producing might pay whatever part of the mortgage his own music won’t cover. It hasn’t worked out that way so far, but he has happily worked for free on records by local comrades The Mood Elevator, The Haskels and a guy he calls “the best songwriter I’ve heard in so long” – an opinion lots of folks hold about Jack White of The White Stripes, who has recently done solo acoustic sessions with Brendan.

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