Possibly the last thing you'd expect on a record from a Nashville-raised songwriter with roots in power-pop is a cover of "Human Nature" from Michael Jackson's Thriller. But it's to Mead's credit that, however graceful, it's far from being the strongest moment on this deceptively straightforward collection of well crafted, elegantly yearning songs. Anyone who found themselves swooning a little to Richard and Linda Thompson's sprog Teddy's debut a while back will find plenty to love here. Mead makes blue-collar rock of the most delicate kind, his soaring but unshowy falsetto and luscious harmonies raising Indiana far above the ordinary. "Beauty, where to find it?" he cries at one point. Right here wouldn't be a bad place to start.
Possibly the last thing you’d expect on a record from a Nashville-raised songwriter with roots in power-pop is a cover of “Human Nature” from Michael Jackson’s Thriller. But it’s to Mead’s credit that, however graceful, it’s far from being the strongest moment on this deceptively straightforward collection of well crafted, elegantly yearning songs.
Anyone who found themselves swooning a little to Richard and Linda Thompson’s sprog Teddy’s debut a while back will find plenty to love here. Mead makes blue-collar rock of the most delicate kind, his soaring but unshowy falsetto and luscious harmonies raising Indiana far above the ordinary. “Beauty, where to find it?” he cries at one point. Right here wouldn’t be a bad place to start.
