Scott Tuma - "Not for Nobody"

Scott Tuma - "Rakes" (Digitalis 2008)

Scott Tuma – Not for Nobody / Digitalis

Book-ending Scott Tuma's third solo album is a pair of elegiac tunes narrated by a teetering high-pitched voice. Like most of Tuma's music, the atmosphere is eerie and somber: wooden panels creek beneath barely audible acoustic guitar melodies, wind chimes ping softly somewhere in the distance, and the low mechanical hum of a rundown pick-up truck rumbles past the microphone once or twice. It's as if a field mouse is crooning the loss of a loved one in the dark and damp corner of an abandoned shed somewhere in the rain-soaked farm fields of Tennessee. "So long, so sorry to you" he aches in his squeaking falsetto, obviously on the verge of tears; the feelings of remorse, anxiety and solitude in his voice clearer than the instrumentation used to create the mood. It would sound rather ridiculous of it wasn't so damn heart wrenching. Tuma has always had a talent for rustic, elegant and bittersweet music, Not for Nobody is just a reminder that he exists in a class of his own when it comes to such categorizations.

Tuma's expansive and experimental take on country, folk and bluegrass obviously originate from his time spent in Souled American, a Chicago-based roots rock band that helped pioneer the indie- and alt-country movements which bloomed in the early-to-mid 90s. Their winding discography, which eventually intertwined numerous genres – from psych to dub to r'n'b – into their rustic sound has been an influence on almost every country-based indie-rock icon since (Uncle Tupelo, Palace, Smog, etc). After their disbandment in the mid-90s, Tuma joined the Michael Krassner-helmed Boxhead Ensemble, which not only featured a number of the artists Tuma helped influence – Will Oldham, Edith Frost, the Tren Brothers – but members of Chicago's burgeoning avant-garde jazz scene like Ken Vandermark, Fred Lonberg-Holm, David Grubbs and Jim O'Rourke among others. Their minimalist and intimate jazz landscapes seep heavily into Tuma's solo work.

Like Tuma’s previous solo albums before it – 2001’s Hard Again and 2003’s The River 1 2 3 4 – Not for Nobody exists as an ethereal spirit in the graveyard of Americana music. Recorded mostly with guitar, banjo, harmonium and hand percussion, Tuma sets himself in an acoustic-friendly room and picks away at somber, meandering melodies reminiscent of lost folk songs and backwoods ballads. The twanged nylon strings fill the room with cascading harmonies, and soft overdubs of harmonium, bells and the occasional moaning horn add all the more emotion to the already affecting sound. From the confident march of “Eloper” to the acoustic guitar and tape-hiss ballad “Moccasoclea,” each track ties your heartstrings deftly to the porch so you are forced to watch the sun set over the auburn fields of grain.

Differentiating himself from most modern folk revivalists, Tuma’s talent is not as much in his ability to speed-pick his way through archaic stringed instruments, but his mastering of resonant harmonies and room sound. A track like “Newjoy” for example falls closer to the Stars of the Lid camp with its tone-rich wall of harmonium swells than much of anything coming out of the School of John Fahey. Then there are songs like “Jason” and “Loversrock1” – featuring Chicago bassist Jason Ajemian – that are more folksy takes on minimalist free jazz with their lack of definable structure. Not to mention the diversity between each track just in terms of recording method. I don’t have the specifications in front of me, but I would be pretty surprised if any of these songs were cut in an actual recording studio as opposed to a series of field recordings.

Of course Tuma does pay his respects to the Americana music that bred his musical taste, if only with “Tiktaalik.” Named after the evolutionary link between ancient fish and amphibians, Tuma faintly plucks the melody to “Camptown Races” in between a tapestry of nylon strings. It’s instantly familiar and nostalgic, but as the song proceeds, Tuma drops the pace and saturates it in a room full of resonating harmonies and out-of-phase multi-tracking. Like the rest of Not for Nobody, the mood it conjures is somber and placid, the atmosphere thick, the music fragile, and the overall vibe rather confusing and more often than not, downtrodden. You are forced to ponder, reminisce and daydream within the cascading timbres. An exacting portrait of thought may never fully form, but the hazy memories and tender emotions Tuma evokes with his voiceless melodic glimmers are plenty enough to force you to sit down and recollect yourself before leaving the room.