On their respective new albums, Americana songstresses Patty Griffin and Allison Moorer wrestle with two very different notions of salvation.
For Griffin's Downtown Church — so named because the record was recorded, in part, at Nashville's Downtown Presbyterian Church — that means pulling from a spiritual well from which the Texas-bred singer has generously drawn for years.
For Moorer's Crows, the salvation is more personalized, with torchy songs of heartbreak and loss that curiously brighten as the songs dig deeper.
Griffin's Downtown Church begins with an earthy harkening to judgment day by Hank Williams (House of Gold) that comes wrapped in Griffin's clean, confessional vocals and the ambient guitar twang of longtime pals Buddy Miller (Church's producer) and Doug Lancio.
It's a meditative preface to a recording that steers into gospel quartet soul (Move Up), a portrait of elegant Spanish spiritualism with Raul Malo (Virgen de Guadalupe) and a slice of churchy 1920s mountain gospel sung with Shawn Colvin and Emmylou Harris (We Shall All Be Reunited).
Although an esteemed songwriter, Griffin relies predominantly on interpretative strengths here. Little Fire (a duet with Harris) and Coming Home to Me (sung with Julie Miller), are the only originals. But Downtown Church summons its most serious spirits when it warps traditional contours.
On Death's Got a Warrant, Griffin sings in testimonial terms with sisters Regina and Ann McCrary. The primary accompaniment is percussion by Jay Bellarose that sounds like chains being dragged on a hardwood floor. "God's got your number," Griffin sings over the fervor. "And he knows where you live." And in less than two minutes, Downtown Church has shared its most emotive sermon — an unadorned blast of spiritual fire that is invigorating, unmovable and a touch frightening.
Moorer's Crows, just by the name alone, would seem the antithesis of Downtown Church. But through its often dark self-examinations, a faith is revealed that is as resolute as Griffin's. The song titles are equally revealing: The Broken Girl, When You Wake Up Feeling Bad and It's Gonna Feel Good (When It Stops Hurting). Only Just Another Fool reverses from the course. It's a warning to those wary men who seek to heal or invade the hurt.
Producer R.S. Field lovingly constructs arrangements that enhance every deep, stoic color in Moorer's voice, even when the album turns unexpectedly sunny on Early in the Summertime and The Stars and I (Mama's Song), two patiently warm childhood recollections.
If you know the back story of Moorer's youth (the murder-suicide of her parents), the affirmations in these tunes become all the more striking. Even if you don't, they form a sense of surprising solace on an album anchored by pervasive loss.
