When winter arrives in the northeast we typically do a few things, in order: go through our clothes throwing out the holey stuff and patching the good, stock up on canned goods and cigars, check the oil in the car, and assemble a good dozen or so albums to warm our cockles in the frigid months ahead. For me anyway, winter warmth comes from acoustic tunes. Something about the nature of finger-plucking puts me in the mood of campfires and marshmallows, but also the inward mindset that comes with colder weather. Face it, the change of seasons initiates the "little death" the French never told you about, the recognition of everything dying out that is the essence of winter. But crap, with the entire North Pole on a melting binge, you gotta wonder if dying is just becoming another way of living. Ouch! Pretty damn miserable for a fabulous Friday!

Like a warmth-giving log cabin buried deep in heavy winter snow, Birdie Busch's sophomore release, Penny Arcade (Bar None), is nostalgic for a practically vanished American life style. Singing in a low slung drawl, Busch's America is a simple place populated by even simpler folk, who seemingly till the land, harvest the crops, drink up their meager profits and go home to sleep it off.  

Emily "Birdie" Busch is a native of Philadelphia, where her former gigs as restaurant hostess and barmaid prompted her to dream for more bucolic locales. Her 2006 debut, The Ways We Try, established her template of neo-folk harmonies aided by a gift for simple, infectious melody. A graduate of the University of Miami (which offers a world classic music program), Birdie has a special way with arrangements, affecting an old soul's wisdom while singing with the naivety of a young buck. Resonant bottleneck guitar, homespun upright piano, brushed drums and fireplace affects lift Birdie's intentionally hokum delivery beyond mere mockery. If Bruce Springsteen can attempt a Midwestern Woody Guthrie delivery, why now Birdie with her Tracy Nelson meets Emmylou Harris twang?  She sings as if performing to stuffed animals in a child's bedroom; you can almost imagine her looking down at the floor, shy on the surface, but assured of her inner skills.

Penny Arcade rocks a bit harder than 2005's The Ways We Try, though the instrumentation remains the same. Birdie has obviously grown more ambitious, even covering Steve Miller's chestnut (he of "Fly Like An Eagle" 70s fame) "Wild Mountain Honey" with a slower gait and virtually Elizabethan bent. There is much focus these days on the "freak folk" parade, on the notion of inventing a cross between English/American folk experimentation, usually practiced by dullards attempting profundity without skills or talent. Birdie is no genius, but she is a fresh talent with sure skills. Her music slows you to its pace, changes your outlook and lightens your load.

Penny Arcade is surprisingly rustic in delivery and approach, but its charms stick with you. "Rabbit's Foot" beats a drum with a morning foot stomp and Birdie's Neil Young inspired declaration; "Clemency" urges a gentle reconciliation with the past; "Huff Singers" recalls a lost Philly club with folksy, good time harmonies and round-the-picnic-table groove. "Go Go Gadget Heart" is the summation of Penny Arcade's trouble-free thrills, Birdie and band laying down a Saturday afternoon stomp illumined with jiving guitars, Velvet Underground worthy electric bass riff, and her close to the breast, nearly spoken vocal. Birdie sounds at times like a rank amateur at open mic night, but her strengths lie in that deception.

Birdie Busch
"Go Go Gadget Heart" (mp3)
from "Penny Arcade"
(BAR NONE)

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