May 18, 2009
William Kerns
It's not unusual for a number of impressive compact discs to emerge each season in West Texas, where one tends to notice production values as well as the simple musicianship. That's not the case with Andy Eppler's new recording called "Disease in the Heartland," a CD that, upon the first of many listenings, immediately forced me to sit up and pay better attention. This is Eppler's third recording, and it is by far his best. No one is going to confuse his work for slick detail. Rather, he is young, just 23, and hoping to make society notice by baring his soul while playing alone. "Disease in the Heartland" has only the simplest possible production values, simple attempts to layer guitar licks or add a bit of keyboards. It might as well be billed as a live album; it has that raw, honest feeling throughout. Shoot, there's even one point where Eppler catches himself when he almost comes back with a chorus repeat too soon. But his songs are so darn good, and Eppler's delivery is so consistently defiant that he is able to conjure believable characters via his lyrics. I've never heard Eppler play with another musician, much less with a band. His prior recordings worked only on a roller-coaster level, with songs a series of highs and lows. His preference for vocal repetition, carrying some songs longer than necessary, especially when performing live, still can prove aggravating. I mention that because Eppler takes huge strides in improving delivery decisions. He knows when to repeat a chorus and when to rely more on guitar, and he's not afraid to even include whispered surprises for fuller effect. His persona can indeed turn ugly, especially when faced with untruths. But only during part of "You Ain't No Cowboy" does he temporarily pass tasteful musical boundaries. Eppler doesn't need to be calling anyone names; his song already frames an everyday hypocrisy of "frat boys" who fail to realize that "being a cowboy is just a state of mind." For the most part, though, his songs on "Disease in the Heartland" are about far more serious issues, ranging from depression to deity. More than one sounds as though construction began in a dark, sad, lonely place. Here, that can describe a man's heart as much as his home studio. Witness a song in which Eppler wails, "I Can't Win," introducing a depression building to potential suicide: "I'm getting myself ready for my last sin." It is important, though, to remember that Eppler is a writer, one working in the creative arts. His goal is to touch the listener, and at times make him consider those less fortunate. In short, these are new songs, not news headlines. Eppler's liner notes explain, "I'd rather play alone. I wanted this album to be pure, raw and uninfluenced by others. I enjoy making art alone. It's therapeutic. I need to make art. I need to be understood." Eppler mentioned to The A-J that he "tried to capture my feelings about my homeland. ... What people outside West Texas don't realize is that, here on the plains, there is nothing on the horizon." "It's like being trapped under glass at the end of the world." He personalizes that trapped feeling in "Horizon Road," where he first informs us that our fathers "fell for the trap." And now he's bending his knees, being "fitted for chains." And where else but in "my prison, my home, my love on the plains," sings Eppler. Listeners may devise different interpretations, but when Eppler sings "Building a Building," it could be the revamped Buddy Holly Center, a church or just an allegorical look at a witnessed disturbing trend. "Don't come looking here for art, 'cause they canceled all the shows," Eppler sings. And for a second time, he finds himself in chains. There isn't anything at all allegorical about "Bad Actress." It is a musical illumination of a relationship gone bad. The song includes a beautiful chant of "Why Should I Stay?" - and, unexpectedly, Eppler closes with soft words that represent more truth, or perhaps unmet potential, than sadness. "I'm Ready to Leave You Now," by arriving next, could reasonably be mistaken for a coda instead of a new tune. Eppler's voice becomes a whisper when approaching the title. Which makes his ending much more startling when he brings the smack down and snaps to his lover, "I never quite unpack; you do your best convincing on your back." He wants blood here. Is this a sad album? Often. Is it depressing? It can be, depending on whether one embraces the lyrics. Frankly, one does get the impression that Eppler has had it up to here with hypocrisy in his homeland. He has become another angry young man, but unwilling to express that, a la Billy Joel, in pop tones. His vocals are excellent. And while his picking can be either hypnotic or too similar, one must admire Eppler's determination to make listeners care, or, better yet, make them think about their lives, direction and even those strangers they've made a daily habit of ignoring. He also juggles contemporary downtrodden with a Christ figure in "The Good Man." "The long road I am walking "Is so all of you can come. "Behold, I'm calling many, "But I'm only choosing some." This closing tale might very well have started as an epic poem before guitar was added. Eppler wrote all of the music and lyrics. He rehearsed the songs, and then recorded them, by himself in a room at home. The tunes are raw, yet equally sensitive and hurting. They work as an invitation to explore both brain and heart. The cure for Eppler's "Disease in the Heartland" may be the public's response to his words. This CD is a ferocious, challenging, individual step by a solo artist unwilling to play in a place where people won't listen. He recorded it alone in his room - and these songs may be best experienced the same way, with no distractions.