As a child, I was simultaneously exhilarated and terrified by carousels, clowns, organ grinder monkeys, and the ocean. I never outgrew those weird attractions/phobias. I still become joyful and anxious at the sight of a spider monkey wearing a bellhop’s hat. I had a similar emotional response the first time I listened to Trailer Bride’s High Seas.
Like its predecessors, Smelling Salts and Whine De Lune, the band’s third disc is a spooky, swampy triumph. Scott Goolsby’s reverb-laced guitar, his brother Brad’s primal drums and Daryl White’s bowed bass form a creepy-crawly foundation for the vocals of Melissa Swingle, the band’s chief songwriter. Swingle’s drawl seizes your attention with its softened consonants, off-kilter phrasing, and knotted-up combination of wisdom, weariness, secrecy, and sexiness. She knows something, and if you lean close, she’ll whisper in your ear and mess with your head.
“Itchin’ For You” demonstrates Swingle’s lyrical talents and her understanding of unrequited love: “Poor little lightning bug, I know just how he feels/He’s flashing hard at my porch light/She’s real pretty, she won’t listen/She’s a white-hot, 60-watt vixen/I’ll be flashing for you, but you just ain’t in the mood.” The lyrics to “Thankful Dirt”, “Ghost Of Mae West”, and “Bird Feet Feelings” are all quirky poetry, falling somewhere between the gothic textures of Flannery O’Connor and the cosmic ramblings of a junkyard dealer who’s huffed too much gasoline while listening to Tom Waits records.
The band digs into a deep groove on “Run Rosie Run”, and “All Thine” shows off the ability to deliver a great hook. “Jesco” is a slinky toe-tapper about clog dancer Jesco White, the subject of Jacob Young’s remarkable 1991 documentary Dancing Outlaw. Throughout the disc, Swingle adds tasteful splashes of harmonica, piano, banjo and musical saw. High Seas may seem mildly wobbly on first listen, but I found it to be decidedly more unsettling and addictive with each subsequent spin.
