You Can Fly

If I ever did a list of desert island discs, it would most likely include Freedy Johnston’s 1992 LP Can You Fly. It’s a perfect singer-songwriter album – thoughtful, crunchy, and full of stick-in-your-brain melodies. It put him in the same lofty league of pop writers as Paul Simon and John Hiatt.

Currently New York based, Johnston went on to a major label deal and spent some time this decade on the East side of Nashville, but never really matched that high point. Still, it’s the reason I greet any new release from Johnston eagerly and with an open mind.

Towards the end of 2008 and into mid-2009, Johnston spent some time here in Austin. He set up residencies at the Saxon Pub and Momo’s and I was delightfully surprised at the couple of shows I attended. Seems I wasn’t the only Freedy fan in town: The rooms were full of fans calling out requests and reveling in hearing old favorites in the flesh. This week, he released his first album of new songs in eight years, Rain on the City (Bar None). It’s got the guts, ringing guitars, and intimate moments that followers have come to expect.

As ever, he’s all over the map stylistically. There’s the alt.country of “Livin’ Too Close to the Rio Grande,” the sultry bossa-nova of “The Kind of Love We’re In,” and deep introspection of “Central Station.” In a just world, flat-out rocker “Don’t Fall In Love With a Lonely Girl” would be all over the radio. Meanwhile, his flinty vocals are showcased to maximum effect on the appropriately misty title track. Overall, it’s Johnston’s best work in ages, one that will thrill those who attended his Austin shows last year while likely making new fans.