TEAM LAST CALL

Morrissey was once quoted as saying – presumably in between sobbing fits – that “we all need rain and good old depression.”

If that’s the case, then bring on the Cowboy Junkies, whose “gothic Americana” hymns have been ushering college students through breakups and breakdowns for over two decades.

Not that the Junkies are all doom and gloom. Oftentimes, what is mistaken for darkness is just the music’s sloth-like pacing; on their breakthrough album, 1988’s The Trinity Session, the Junkies managed to take both “Blue Moon” and the Velvet Underground’s “Sweet Jane” and turn them into drowsy, gorgeous mopers that creep along with all the ferocity of a sedated snail. It can come across as a real rainy-day downer; but, like Schindler’s List, it can also be edifying and ultimately just the slightest bit uplifting.

“It’s certainly dark, what we write about, but I think there are also glimmers of hope in all our stuff,” says chief songwriter Michael Timmins. “When people say that music’s depressing, I find that very inaccurate. I think that’s a misuse of the term ‘depressed.’ ‘Depressed’ to me is something that’s lacking any emotion at all. To me, a mindless pop song is more depressing than anything we ever did.”

For the band’s newest album, At The End of Paths Taken, Timmins spent some time pondering family life and the inevitable changeover that takes place as children are born and grandparents pass away. Family is a natural subject for Timmins, considering that two of his three bandmates – Margo and Peter – are his siblings.
“Everybody in this band’s got young kids and aging parents,” Michael says. “I just wanted to write about those relationships – up to your father and down to your kids – and how those affect one another.”

The album – the 11th in the band’s 20-plus-year history – has enough molasses-y ballads and folky meanderings to satisfy longtime fans, but is also characterized by some newfound tension. Songs like the swinging “Cutting Board Blues” represent the Junkies at their most rocking, while the spooky “Mountain” features the unsettling juxtaposition of Margo’s soft vocals and the spoken-word droning of the Timmins’ father reading an excerpt from his autobiography. “My Little Basquiat” seems to be the album’s centerpiece; the song creeps ominously along, with Margo singing achingly about her children, until Michael breaks down the door with bursts of buzzsaw guitar that voice the morbid fear that comes with loving someone that deeply.

As bands like Oasis so ably demonstrate, siblings don’t always make for the best work partners. But Michael maintains that the Timmins’ relationship is not only workable, but might be the very reason why the Junkies have persevered for so long.

“I think it’s helped us,” he says matter-of-factly. “A lot of brothers and sisters don’t, but we know how to communicate. We know each other’s personalities and we know each other’s moods, and we know generally when to back off.

“There are very few bands who last this long, especially with the original lineup. You can probably count five. There’s U2 and there’s … mmm …,” Timmins laughs. “But we still enjoy working with each other and performing and recording. As long as it’s fun, we’ll continue to do it.”

*Reprinted from Fly Magazine