Rob Halverson
Robinson Ear’s Little Whirled of Sound
(Jumping Man) Anyone who saw a Robinson Ear Machine set during their fabled run at the Victory Grill knows that the troupe did its best to re-create a late-night living room feel, right down to the battered floor lamps and the 15-minute barefoot piss-break jam sessions that cropped up regularly. It comes as no surprise, then, that Robinson frontman Rob Halverson brings the same spacious sentiment to Robinson Ear’s Little Whirled of Sound, an eclectic collection of originals that clips along at more of a ramble than a run. And what a fine ramble it is: expansive, imaginative, and above all relaxed, built from Halverson’s blues-tinged guitar and midnight lullaby voice, and supported by a side of instrumental alchemy and some dependably sublime background singing. The standout is opener “Ain’t Nobody’s Burden,” a sly dispatch of rhythm, improvisation, and white soul with an uncanny ability to settle among the couch cushions of the mind and stay there. Halverson’s songs, though skeletal, are not simple; his stream-of-consciousness sound belies the amount of time the local musician must have spent with his guitar and his mixing board, wrangling various parts into their rightful place in his parade. To be sure, Halverson’s sprawling vision serves him better on some songs (“Mastheads,” “Nacoma”) than on others (“Sailing On,” “Water”), and yes, a few noodles do stray from the sizable bowl Halverson provides; he’s guilty of the modern conceit, releasing a 70-minute opus when the best 60, if not the best 40, would do. Still, it’s but a quibble: Halverson and his trusty sidekicks don’t misfire often, and deep within those languid grooves lies an awful lot of musical talent, as well as an appreciation for wide open spaces that even the Dixie Chicks can’t match.
This article appears in January 21 • 2000.