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The smooth harmonizing of a redneck Simon and Garfunkel has manifested itself in the larynx of Sam Beam (a.k.a. Iron and Wine). The liner notes claim that Beam recorded and produced this record in his home, somewhere in the urban sprawl of Miami. The atmosphere is, however, more rural backwater than metropolis: a rustic poet reclining in a worm-eaten rocker on a Southern back porch, chewin' tobacco, pickin' a guitar and singing lyrics that are a twisted fusion of the Waltons and Edgar Allen Poe.

This album is a collection of contrasts. It is simultaneously warm, frosty, breezy, heavy, comforting, disconcerting, hopeful and bleak. Understated acoustic guitars and Sam Beam's warm, mild vocal (often harmonizing with itself) wrap themselves around lyrics that are both nostalgic and tragic, that celebrate childhood, love and faith, but also lament their loss. Such is the conflict of "Upward Over the Mountain," where gentle, cantering guitar chords accompany poetry that bristles with despair:

Mother I made it up from the bruise on the floor of this prison
Mother I lost it all, all the fear of the lord I was given
Mother forget me now that the creek drank the cradle you sang to
Mother forgive me now, I sold your car for the shoes that I gave you

And love is a tired symphony
you hum when you re awake
and love is a crying baby
Mama warned you not to shake
And love's the best sensation
hiding in the lion's mane

Shelby Foster  4/16/2003