— Kevin young — painted son (sun)
His debut release, but to be honest it’s like listening to a finely weathered folk musicians weekend project, recorded on a run of Sundays in a chic ass studio in the Oregon mountains.
It’s a masterclass of execution and production and the maturity of both parties leaks out of every corner of this four-track wedge. The weird-ass lo-fi feel, the double vocals, the position and the variety of percussion in the mix, the ease in Young’s delivery is a deliverance you never knew you needed. It’s old-fashioned, it’s fresh, it’s a country bound, folk contradiction, and it works.
These are solid, honest songs, they’ve been chewed up over many hard winters and regurgitated for a mature listeners ears. There’s so much going on, yet at times nothing at all, without distraction like it’s just one man and his axe.
Kevin’s story as a songwriter is an education in the following of dreams. He barely played the guitar when I first met him in 2011, but he’s a melodic grandfather in his musical taste, especially to those know him and have played in his beautiful little cafe over the years.
His love within that fold for local music and its practitioners is unmatched when it comes to hosting a band; his evangelical super clubs in a rural village in County Down (often to less than 30 people) were some of the fondest shows I ever had the pleasure to play.
Young knows what he’s doing and he’s doing what he knows, he’s hard-working, honest and kind and he has the talent, the songs and the passion I believe, to carry him as far he wishes to go. A man in the second half of life, with nothing to prove, nowhere to run and a good time his only ambition. I honestly believe if he gave it up tomorrow he would have already exceeded his own humble expectations.
But the man’s a talent, and his expectations were too low, to begin with.