'Magnolia Electric Co.'
What The Critics Say
From the very beginning, there was always a certain blue-collar quality to Jason Molina's songs, a working-class element informing his lyrics. But nowhere is it more visible than on Magnolia Electric Co., the seventh Songs: Ohia album. The assured, denim-clad, '70s rock feel of the album positions it on the dark edge of town, in the neighborhood of Bruce Springsteen, John Mellencamp, and Bob Seger. But these are no bombastic anthems like the songs of those populist rousers. Molina remains subjective and confessional in tone even when singing, "Someone must have set 'em up/Now they'll be working in the cold gray rock/Now they'll be working in the hot mill steam/Now they'll be working in the concrete," as he does on the incredible seven-plus minute opener, "Farewell Transmission." The song also serves as possibly the first real recorded display on a proper full-length album of what the Songs: Ohia touring band is capable of doing. Seasoned, powerful, and dynamic -- for at least this one song -- Songs: Ohia is an actual band and not just Molina and company. In fact, Magnolia as a whole has a much more open and collaborative feel than previous albums; Molina even relinquishes lead vocal duties on two occasions. Lawrence Peters applies some outlaw country grit to "The Old Black Hen," but the words sound somewhat awkward coming from him and as a result the song doesn't quite work. Much more successful is Scout Niblett on the rambling "Peoria Lunch Box Blues." Sounding like a female Van Morrison, you can almost see her obsessively pacing back and forth as she sings. But despite all the input from others, the most interesting and compelling thing about this release (like any Songs: Ohia album) is Molina's voice, which has grown beyond being simply an idiosyncratic instrument into a wonderfully expressive one as well. He uses it to stunning effect on "John Henry Split My Heart," a classic B-side rocker in the tradition of "Cowgirl in the Sand" and "Free Bird," and likewise on the relatively somber closer, "Hold on Magnolia," which gets help from slide guitar, violin, and a swaying rhythm to create a beautifully bittersweet mood. Magnolia Electric Co. may not be the best Songs: Ohia album, but it is certainly the most approachable. It has a big, open feel certain to appeal to any classic rock fan, but retains the warm intimacy of previous albums. Not an easy line to walk. ~ Jason Nickey, All Music Guide
'Didn't It Rain'
What The Critics Say
After the densely textured, almost suffocating feel of Ghost Tropic, Didn't It Rain is like a blast of arctic wind. Recorded live, the album has a much looser, informal feel than its predecessor. This jam-session quality is also fostered by the addition of Jim Krewson and Jennie Benford from the neo-bluegrass band Jim & Jennie & the Pinetops, lending mandolin and close harmonies to the sparse, minor-key acoustic strumming of Jason Molina. But don't come expecting some sort of hootenanny. Lyrically, Didn't It Rain still delves into some dark territory, though not nearly as bleak as Ghost Tropic. One senses Molina trying to carve out some bare-bones truths and live without illusions when he sings on the title track of Emersonian self-reliance: "I'll call you friend indeed, but I'm going to watch my own back." Echoing this sentiment is "Ring the Bell," the best song on the album and one of the best in the entire Songs: Ohia catalog. Atop a harrowing cello drone, Molina sings, "Help does not just walk up to you" and "If there's a way out it will be step by step through the blackness" -- there may be transcendence somehow, but it's still necessary to deal with the here and now. Didn't It Rain also stands as Molina's most lyrically straightforward and personal statement, eschewing much of the oblique symbolism of his past. One of the songs is even called "Cross the Road, Molina," and on "Blue Factory Flame" he sings, "When I die put my bones in an empty street/Bring a Coleman lantern and a radio/Cleveland game and two fishing poles/And watch with me from the shore/Ghostly steel and iron ore," alluding to his childhood home on Lake Erie. Chicago (Molina's current hometown) also figures heavily in a number of the songs, either directly ("Blue Chicago Moon") or indirectly ("Steve Albini's Blues"). All this adds up to easily the most satisfying Songs: Ohia album since Axxess & Ace. By all rights it should firmly establish Molina as one of the most distinctive singer/songwriters of his generation. ~ Jason Nickey, All Music Guide
'Mi Sei Apparso Come un Fantasma'
What The Critics Say
Jason Molina has always been a prolific songwriter, releasing at least an album a year under the name Songs: Ohia, not to mention numerous singles, EPs, and collaborations. So when it came time to release a document of a typical Songs: Ohia live shows, it comes as no surprise that some otherwise unreleased and unnamed songs show up on the set list. What might come as a surprise is exactly how much of Mi Sei Apparso Come un Fantasma (You Come to Me as a Ghost) is unreleased material, five out of eight songs to be exact. Molina is known to mull songs over for a long time, changing their titles and sometimes drastically altering them musically over time, often even after they're released. So chances are these songs will show up in some form on proper albums someday. But as they are presented here, the untitled songs are far from embryonic sketches or throwaways. Performed with a full backing band, which includes guitarist Dan Sullivan from Nad Navillus, Songs: Ohia stretches out on Fantasma, allowing Molina's songs to breathe but never sounding gratuitous, like a slightly subdued Crazy Horse. The untitled leadoff track is a good example: building upon a slow-churning riff and minimal snare crack, Molina sings in his unmistakable warble, "All those days, we don't have days like that left to us," and Sullivan's guitar tastefully fills the space in between without clouding the song's clarity or power, never overplaying or grandstanding. Recorded in Modena, Italy, in September 2000 as the band was touring behind The Lioness, Molina and company chose to rework two songs off that album, "Tigress" and "Being in Love." They close with a vastly changed version of "Cabwaylingo" from Songs: Ohia's self-titled debut album. The song is given a much harder edge overall: an extended staccato guitar intro, additional verses, and a smoother vocal delivery. ~ Jason Nickey, All Music Guide
'Protection Spells'
What The Critics Say
The second of three full-length albums Jason Molina released as Songs: Ohia in 2000, Protection Spells was also the second sickeningly limited-edition LP he had released in as many years. Like 1999's The Ghost LP, Protection Spells was written and recorded in a very short amount of time and only 500 copies of it were pressed, all of which were sold on one of Molina's tours. Recorded at home, the album sounds more often than not like a collection of demos, but that doesn't mean the record should be written off and ignored altogether; the songs almost make up for the spotty sound quality. Protection Spells is quite possibly the most processional Songs: Ohia album yet; the songs trudge steadily along -- determined, to be sure -- but never break loose from a slow, heavy dirge. The best moments come with the buzzing, vibraphone-accented opener "Trouble Will Find You" and "The One Red Star," a tender number characterized by acoustic guitar and piano that's reminiscent of the Dirty Three's more bucolic work. It can be infuriating for fans (especially for those of bands who inspire such unwavering devotion as Songs: Ohia) when entire albums are released as limited-edition or tour-only pieces. Such is the case with Protection Spells, though it was probably best that it was relegated to its status as a minor LP. Had it been given a proper release, folks only would've been disappointed. ~ Bryan Carroll, All Music Guide
'Ghost Tropic'
What The Critics Say
Subdued and somber, Ghost Tropic could make for the perfect soundtrack to a midnight walk along a deserted street. At its center is Jason Molina's voice, beautiful and frail, surrounded variously (though rarely at the same time) by sparse guitar, keyboards, and percussion. Everything moves as slowly as a three-legged dog, and anyone neither patient enough nor attuned to Molina's style of songcraft (imagine Neil Young doing very mellow gypsy folk music) might very well be put to sleep. ~ Christian Hoard, All Music Guide
'Songs: Ohia'
What The Critics Say
Springing fully formed from the mind of singer/guitarist Jason Molina, this is one mature debut album. The instrumentation is just right: Molina knows exactly when to compliment his tenor guitar and haunting vocals with a touch of banjo and woodwinds. Likewise, Molina shows a brave restraint in places, stripping songs down to their bare minimum and allowing them fly or fall on their own power. This album paints with broad brushstrokes the territory that Molina explores in more detail with subsequent Songs: Ohia albums. With vaguely circular lyrical patterns and diction that seems to flow out of some as yet undiscovered folk tradition, these songs speak of love in terms of fear and exhilaration. ~ Jason Nickey, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
Recorded in Glasgow, Scotland with Aidan Moffat and David Gow of Arab Strap, and Ali Roberts of Appendix Out, The Lioness explores similar territory as the previous Songs: Ohia album, Axxess and Ace, namely the volatility of relationships. But the mood here is much bleaker than the previous album, and there's more of a feeling a desperation in Jason Molina's vocals. On the opening track, "The Black Crow," he sings "I look down / and see the whole world / and it's fading." With the rest of the album, Molina personalizes the universal, lamenting fading love and clinging to it for dear life. Sonically, there is more experimentation on The Lioness than other releases, with flashes of keyboards and duel guitars, but the hallmark, as always, is Molina's inimitable voice. ~ Jason Nickey, All Music Guide
'Axxess & Ace'
What The Critics Say
Songs: Ohia takes a big step forward with Axxess & Ace, both in ambition and accessibility. Whereas the self-titled debut and the follow-up, Impala, could be esoteric and downright depressing in places, Axxess weaves intensely personal lyrics with universal worries and anxieties to create a rich musical tapestry. An all-star team of Chicago-based musicians, including Joe Ferguson of Pinetop Seven, Julie Liu of Rex, and Boxhead Ensemble's Michael Krassner add musical support, while Edith Frost sings backup on a few numbers. The musicians heard songwriter Jason Molina's planned songs for the first time on the day of recording and performed them almost entirely live; the finished product is one of spontaneity yet surprising fullness. Any exploration of the music of Songs: Ohia should start with this album. ~ Jason Nickey, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
Impala, quite simply, is Songs: Ohia at its most rudimentary. That is, the album finds Jason Molina -- the songwriter, singer, guitarist, and sole constant member of Songs: Ohia -- both developing some of the stark impressionism of his later albums and steadying his gaze on the deceptive simplicity with which he shines a light on his own heart. Or, as he lays it on in the opening lines: "Tonight I am gambling with my sentiment/Tonight I am losing in a crowded room/tonight I am down to my soul." The broad strokes that Molina paints with guitar and voice (with occasional, strategic, and wonderfully economical drum and organ flourishes courtesy of frequent Songs: Ohia contributor Geof Comings) suggest grand adventure. Bolder and more cocksure than the broken-hearted troubadour of subsequent (or consequent) records such as Axxess & Ace and The Lioness, Molina seems sure, even occasionally funky (as on "East's Heart Divided"). Molina's from the same side of the songwriting tracks as Will Oldham or Mark Kozelek. From the opening, seven-plus-minute salvo of Spartan, 5 a.m. introspection of "An Ace Unable to Change" -- with its quiet rolling guitar and organ lines -- to the haunted, rustic trilogy that closes the album, the light that Molina's songwriting lets in is just enough to catch a glimpse of a sepia-toned, nearly forsaken nostalgia. It's beautiful, less-is-more Americana, suggestive more of the hard-bitten folks populating the literary works of authors E. Annie Proulx or Daniel Woodrell than any straight-talking, rhythmic strumming folky troubadour. By the time the dust settles, Impala leaves a sense of longing hanging in the air. A lovely, peeling, chipped record of emotional decay. ~ Chris Handyside, All Music Guide
