Fine new album from Charleston, South Carolina's Conor Donohue, his third, entitled Let Love Contaminate. Think Kevin Morphy, Matthew Houck, (Phosphorescent), and Father John Misty trading turns on vocals and a rich, swampy Southern sound and you'll get the general idea.
The mood is thick and smoky as a neon lit bar towards closing time back in the day and ready to kick up a storm. As well as the artists I've just listed I'm also minded of the early Seventies when Dr. John, Nilsson, Lennon, Ringo Starr and any number of other heavy drinkers were intent on having the best time they possibly could despite what life might have been throwing at them at the time. Like those guys, Donohue has a rich,raspy voice that speaks of lived in skin, and a dry sense of humour which complements his songs and the mood he's trying to create perfectly.
Lyrically, particularly on the brilliant Lost Weekend, things occasionally touch on the darkness but Donohue sensibly keeps things wry and upbeat. Let Love Contaminate knows that hair of the dog and another cigarette is always the best option while the bars are still open. A truly eerie, evocation of the joys of having just one more for the road and letting tomorrow worry about itself.
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