The Small Sounds, The Small Sounds

Honestly, the greatest thing about the Small Sounds’ self-titled debut has nothing to do with the guitars, the melodies, or even the words. It’s just that the album possesses this amazing, gentle warmth — listening to those jangly guitars swing and sway over vocalist/guitarist Holden Rushing’s gravely melancholy voice as he spins out bassist Tommy Ramsey’s somber/sweet songs of loss and love is like laying on your back out in an empty, open field, feeling the sun and the breeze play across skin each in their own time.

The Small Sounds is vulnerable and wide-open, moving along at just the right speed without feeling rushed or sloppy. These guys are past masters when it comes to restraint; they never overdo it, only playing exactly what they need to play to make each song work. Take the heartbreakingly gorgeous “Leave Virginia Girl,” for one, where drummer Paul Beebe builds gently throughout the course of entire damn song, hitting the crescendo right where the music breaks and crashes over the walls. Then there’s the luminous slide guitar and piano on “Grey While Gone,” which trade back-and-forth like friends arguing, and the folk-gospel feel of “Room Eight” — it’s difficult to pin down a standout track.

The music itself is country, but not yee-haw country, thankfully. The Small Sounds are far closer kin to ’70s country-rockers like Buffalo Springfield or alt-country followers like Son Volt or The Jayhawks than they are most of what emanates from Nashville. It helps that Ramsey’s one hell of a lyricist, foregoing the cheeseball trappings of bars, trucks, and girls to focus on delicate stories drawn from history both public (see “John C. C. Hill,” which I think is about the Mexican War, although I can’t really be sure) and personal (see “Leave Virginia Girl” and “Mothers & Daughters” for two).

Taken as a whole, the album feels less recorded than crafted, like the musicians involved — the folks mentioned above, along with keyboardists Alan Knust and Cullen Evans, guitarists Craig Feazel (who wrote “It Could Be”) and James Thompson (who also wrote opener “Somervell” and “Biloxi Grand”), and vocalist Mark Riddell — painstakingly carved the pieces necessary to assemble the thing by hand.

The amount of time and care the band took with these songs is evident throughout, even on oddball track “Area 51,” which is goofy but still works, thanks to the earnestly friendly, smiling sincerity the band imbues to the track. Sure, they’re obviously tongue-in-cheek about it, but they pull it off in such a way that it doesn’t matter that they’re joking. Bands who take themselves seriously all the time suck, anyway.

Even now, after repeated listens, I find myself drawn to The Small Sounds over and over again, wanting to hear those subtle flourishes and heartworn voices and feel that deep-down warmth one more time, smiling to myself all the while. And really, that’s the best recommendation I can give.