Let's shift gears a little bit, today, after yesterday's descent into psychosexual cults and manic, throbbing pleas for sanity. Today, we'll visit the very polar opposite in the form of burnished-silver-voiced Peggy Honeywell (aka Clare Rojas, as known in the San Francisco art circles).
Honeywell crafts songs stripped down twinkling acoustic guitar, or the occsional banjo and her wonderfully warm voice. I'd call it "alt-country" but I can't bring myself to call something that sounds like a direct descendent of Harry Smith's American Folk Music set "alt" anything. If this isn't roots, or real country, I don't know what is. Honeywell lays down the blanket of her songs like Loretta Lynn tucking you in at night - albeit a Loretta Lynn who didn't marry at 14 and might have been a hardware store owner's daughter instead of a coal miner's. There's innocence, playfulness, and dangit - it's just plain pretty. Just listen to the simplicity of "Sing Sang Sung" on the 2005 album FAINT HUMMS and tell me that it doesn't remind you of dusty roads and an America you've never seen outside of Steinbeck novels and local Opry broadcasts.
All three of her albums can be heard in their entirety here.
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