The Felice Brothers

Recalling early Dylan and Woody Guthrie is certainly laudable; vacuously mimicking them, however, isn’t. On their self-titled debut release for Team Love Records, the Felice Brothers craft laid-back, charcoal-mellowed drinking chanteys that recall the earthy backwoods Americana of Dylan and Guthrie, right down to the nasal whine of the vocalist.

Unfortunately, instead of bringing a new take to the genre, they prefer to coast on what came before them, choosing to supplement their sleepy delivery with equally lazy songwriting. The blueprint is followed so closely that it begs the question: why bother writing songs? Why not just become a Dylan cover band? At least then the material would be stronger.

All the elements that bring the over-50 NPR set and the under-30 last-week-I-was-listening-to-metalcore-but-now-I’m-dating-a-Decemberists-fan crew together in charming “historic” table-seating venues are here: midtempo sentimentality, premature world-weariness, and plenty of those “unconventional” instruments (banjo, accordion, horns, Wurlitzer organ) that are losing their novelty faster than the 2003 post-punk revival (hey, remember The Rapture? Whatever happened to them, anyway?). No doubt, this stuff is big business right now, and the Felice Brothers are likely to blow up bigger than their Haystacks Calhoun-esque accordionist (a recent high-profile opening slot with the Drive-By Truckers was an obvious win).

But instead of expertly painting with the varied palate of their heroes, the Brothers swirl and mix their colors until they emerge a homogenized, taupish brown—all earth tones and no variety. In today’s musical climate, it’s easy to imagine the Felice Brothers with huge bags of cash being thrown at them, like Ron Howard at the end of that episode of the Simpsons where he steals Homer’s movie pitch. Like Ron, the Felice Brothers are capitalizing on someone else’s ideas. Who knows what’ll happen once they run out?