DOUG SCHMUDE: Burn These Pages

Doug Schmude (pronounced like moody) is from Irvine, a string whiz/singer/songwriter who when last heard on Ghosts of the Main Drag, was sketching pictures of small-town working class. It was a minor triumph, and he is back with more of the same on Burn These Pages.

A veteran performer who has his own studio, Schmude plays as a guest on other artist’s albums, and his songs cover the spectrum from quiet and personal, through rustic and countrified, all the way to crunchy rock, pulling all of it off with flair. He plays most of the instruments and wrote all of the 11 originals but one. “Setting Fire to the Moon” starts, an intro to his clever lyrics, getting things off to an unhurried start, about the stars and names from the past. “Crescent City Home” is a chunky rocker that professes Schmude’s ardor for New Orleans, where “there’s a statue of Jesus standin’ on top Jackson Square.” It celebrates the ultimate victory of the souls of the survivors over the flood, “we all paint our masterpiece from meal to meal.”

The level stays high, and the vibe shifts for “El Tren de la Muerte,” about a death freight train in El Salvador full of haunting images of immigrants with no hope but nothing to lose, dodging bandits and ghosts to try for a long shot at reaching pie in the sky in the north. It has a dark drone, echoes, and a great, evocative vocal. Most roots music fans know someone like “Silas James,” as Schmude’s gift for character studies comes through on a mid-tempo tune about the long-haired (“white as the White Album”), nice dude at the record store who knew every rock ‘n’ roll song and group, right up to the day they put Silas into the ground and had a wake with the turntable to remember him.

“My Daddy’s Musket” is about the last person drawing a government pension related to the Civil War, and it wears its rustic edge on its sleeve. Before it is through, it is about family kin and getting judged by God; it smoothly transitions to “Salt,” which is about how Schmude’s love has a special qualities: “fabric of this earth, long before me and her, men have gone to war for, put a thousand ships to oar for, shipped around the world for.” Back to the blue-collar hero boards for “Enough Rope,” which chronicles the life journey of a small town guy who lives in a trailer, works on a tractor, and gets married to his pregnant girlfriend at 18, “you can’t hang yourself if you ain’t got enough rope,” but he understands where he fits, and this sharp rocker slows down on the verses to take the limited picture in.

The title song is similar to “Rope,” but is introspective as Schmude is looking at his life at the end of the day–he is haunted and wonders why, as nice keys and electric guitar give the farewell tune added heft. There is much for roots fans to enjoy on Doug Scmude’s Burn These Pages.