Written by: Dave Cantrell
Fueled by persistence, fortuitous circumstance, and the bonhomie and goodwill of musicians from the sawdust-floored bars of the midwest to the taxicab-choked environs of NYC, Girls on Grass’s head girl Barbara Endes, on the Brooklyn band’s self-titled debut, has almost single-handedly restored faith in what had seemed a bygone idiom, the urban-based country rock that once flourished with a rascally poignancy all across the land. Pointedly, there’s nothing cheap or cheesy about it, no hokey beer-crying narratives nor a single yee-haw to be heard but instead eleven hand-crafted tracks full of intelligence, wit, and the commonplace yearnings native to the human condition.
Going from the biographical – “Father Says Why,” a must appropriate opener that all warm twang and stinging solo (Sean Eden) as if tells of Endes’s ‘coming out as a musician’ moment with the man back in Milwaukee that set her on the classic country path in the first place – to ripping social (media) commentary with a locomotive drive (“Drowning in Ego”) and back again – the album ends on the wryly reflective “One of the Guys,” Endes and Eden echoing the lyrics by trading licks with a down home eloquence – Girls on Grass finds ways to gleefully detour into Buddy Holly’ed honky-tonk (the winkingly self-doubting “Too Pretty”), aching balladry with a biting political edge a la Neko Case (“What They Wrought”), a smoldering atmospheric declaration of independence built on the percussive nous of band co-founder and longtime pal Nancy Polstein (“Pissin Down A Road”) and even, yes, a traditional Loretta-like head-nodder called “How Does It Feel?” with guest Karen Waltuch’s viola taking an emotive turn as a fiddle.
Endes has a ringingly clear voice with just a glistening touch of vibrato that keeps these songs on the agreeable, believable side of showy, that sweet spot where the desire to be guiltlessly entertained meets the heartfelt hunger for the genuine. Deeply sincere with an ever-present twinkle of spirit in the eye, Girls on Grass straddle the city/country divide by swinging effortlessly into the saddle and riding with a giddy-up grace down the center of Fifth Avenue, taxis in their midst. [album available here]
