David Zink

David Zink

Pyro

Papa’s Moon

Here is another dire record. You can file this one under “heart on sleeve, acoustic troubadour, adult-folk coma.” Don’t get me wrong, when I say “adult,” I mean in the most boring and frustratingly lifeless way possible. When one names an album Pyro , the listener would expect some degree of life and spark and edginess. None of that here. I would like to propose the alternate title, Live from the Coffeehouse on an Open Mic Night , or Tonight I’m Gonna Sing You My Diary With My Trusty Guitar . I don’t want to imply that this record is amateurish, it is quite competent. But “competent” is the only complimentary adjective I can muster. It’s this sort of earnest, workmanlike folk-rock that frustrates the living hell out of me. No demands are made of the listener, no new ground is covered. The music centers around mid-paced acoustic James Taylor riffs with a full band backing. Lyrics are “intensely” personal but bland (he rhymes “face” with “trace” with “grace,” and “Mercy On Me” is perhaps about stalking random young women, grrreat), and Zink’s voice is strong but reminiscent of a million other singer/songwriters. There are only two people in the world that should be allowed to make this sort of confessional music, and that is Chan Marshall and Bonnie “Prince” Billy. Worse than the Gin Bloss –no, that’s just being catty. I know this seems bad, but if you had to go through the pain of listening to “Damn That Gun,” a murder ballad this is not.

Nice hair though.

Papa’s Moon, 2446 N. Ganesha Ave., Altadena, CA 91001

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