Micah P. Hinson and the Pioneer Saboteurs
Four albums into his career, and I am about ready to elevate Micah P. Hinson to the Toad Pantheon of Unchallengeable Greatness. Red Empire Orchestra seemed to lack a little purpose at times, almost as if Hinson himself were slightly uncertain about the album, and I do not like covers at all, so All Dressed Up and Smelling of Strangers didn’t really click for me either.
This, however, without being a drastic change, slaps down those niggling doubts pretty fucking decisively – it’s fucking great. You know who Hinson reminds me of? Sam Amidon. I’ve interviewed both now and both are opaque, intimidating people, hugely generous with their time and conversation, but with a kind of hard edge to them which a stupid question, a waste of time or a glib frivolity could easily cause to bubble to the surface. Lovely guys both of them, but if they came to think that you were an idiot, I get the impression there would be little else to be had from either but a cool dismissal.
Musically they remind me of one another too, particularly in the combination of relying heavily on straightforward songwriting embellished so lavishly and beautifully with classical orchestration, and all the time with that same undercurrent of bite which makes their respective personalities so striking.
One of the things which seems to make artists lose their flair in old age is that anyone successful enough to still be making music that long seems to have their desire, their need, dissolved slightly by that very success. Hinson strikes me very squarely as someone whose fire burns so fiercely that even the salve of finding true love is unlikely to ever dampen it. When you speak to him he just simmers with passion, and in his music that simmering boils over time and again, despite the presence of more soft-focus bliss such as the uncomfortably unguarded Dear Ashley.
This album feels, at heart, like a beautifully constructed alt-folk album, swirled about by gorgeous classical instrumentation. And yet if that’s what it is, it is one which has been twisted, distorted and enraged by noise and chaos, as if the underlying beauty were always in danger of being consumed by the fury which seems to bubble from the exact same well which makes the beauty so intense.
It is perhaps a little more abstract, this album, than his previous ones. It relies less on songs, per se, and more on long, building instrumentals, which seem to carry the emotional arc of the album more than the lyrics themselves. He starts and ends with these, beginning with the lovely Call to Arms and ending with the twelve minute microcosm of The Returning, which eventually draws the sting of the seven minutes of aggravated guitar, before lapsing into more soothing strings of what feels like turning the last page of an emotionally devastating book. It’s all done, it’s half four in the morning and there is already a greying light in the sky, but you’re through it now and can finally go to sleep.
Micah P. Hinson – Seven Horses Seen
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Micah P. Hinson – The Returning
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I know I promised the Notcraigcast last week, but it didn’t happen I’m afraid. After last week’s amazing 










