Americana and roots music are all the rage, and one of those lesser-known forces helping light the way hails from the Northwestern city of Portland, Oregon. Dustin Hamman and his rotating cast of a dozen band members form Run On Sentence. They recently released their first album, Oh When the Wind Comes Down (Hush Records). It's an album that strikes its listeners immediately upon hearing the light whimsical beginnings. The songs are centered on Hamman's wonderful ability to craft a story not only with words but also with simple melodies and hooks that come straight out of the last 100 years of music.
He yodels, hums, sings and strums you into a somnambulant mood during the first two tracks, the equally entertaining tales “Carrie Part 1" and “ Carrie Part 2." Hamman has a few things going for him that all begin and end with his voice, which, as singer-songwriters go, is top notch. On this newborn offering there is no disguising his voice, no hiding it behind feedback or sneaking it in between crashing drums. Nope, he lets his vocals flap in the wind, showing that he can clearly sing with the best of any present day artist. He's a combination of Beck singing on his best day mixed with touches of Citizen Cope without the rasp. The second piece to the puzzle is the fun clearly being had in creating this music and exploring the styles that have shaped present day sounds. As a band, they delve into sea shanties and horn driven big band waltzes. The third thing that Hamman does well is pen a crafty song. His words are poetry to a generation inheriting a bleak world. However, Hamman is an optimist who looks at the glass as half full and potentially brimming over with possibilities.
By the time you hit the middle of the album the varied yet complementary stylistic flourishes placed into each song begin to stand out. “The After Life Part 1" is where the album takes a pretty interesting turn. It drops some of the lighter hooks and unveils a darker, deeply poignant side dealing with living life to the fullest. The hook to “The After Life Part 1," aside from its rolling horn sections and searing switch to powerful instrumentation, rests in the words themselves.
Bout time to start living now the parties over
You're feeling all right and the cocaine hasn't killed you yet
So raise one more glass to the things that did you in
Even though they probably weren't your friends
In the breath of the afterlife you can write your name
On the window of every car and it still won't mean anything.
From here, the songs all fit together and each listener can pull from them what they will. “Stonewall" is dark but its clap-along heart lies in a smoky New Orleans jazz club, while its soul ferments in the basement. After a few tempo changes it all ends in a rollicking sing-along complete with harmonized belly laughs.
Bits of anger erupt from Hamman during “8th Street Music Company." His ferocity is backed by a simple drumbeat and a touch of shakers. The plain beat and strumming blends to create a pointed stroll of a song that leads the listener into the sorrow filled “Foreign and Awkward." Here, Hamman simply spills about his inability to connect to a world flying by him. The homebrewed qualities of the record seep through as he lets his emotions pour out in his words and acoustic guitar thrashing. It's a real honest-to-god look into his mind, where Hamman releases his disgust by singing about how the modern world leaves many people stranded in the gutter.
He wraps up the album in fitting form with “The Afterlife Part 2," where Hamman sings about his acceptance of life's moments of beauty and happiness. As a listener, you're made to realize that these moments truly are the ones to live for.
Here's a solo Hamman performing “Stonewall" live.
And here's the whole band playing “The Afterlife Part 1" at the Doug Fir in Portland, Oregon.
