Nellie Bly isn’t afraid to embrace the raw and gritty side of rock and roll. The band’s self-titled album takes listeners on a tour of the kitchen cupboard (instruments include handy items such as a peanut jar and a knife sharpener) and lets us hitch a ride through blues, bluegrass and country. “That Was Then,” which sounds like it might have been produced by Nick Cave, has the thin, echoic sound of a dive bar recording. Lead vocalist Missy Gibson can wail like Hank Williams and rage like P.J. Harvey on a punk day, or turn choir girl-sweet or soft and velvety as Cowboy Junkies’ Margo Timmins. “I don’t have no pretty-girl hands/I don’t dress quite right … Maybe I’m not graceful/but I stood up when I fell,” she purrs on “Pretty Girl.” The shiver-giving “Bucket of Blood” is one of the better songs I’ve heard this year—one of those wonderful tunes that sound at once warmly familiar and refreshingly new. An album for those weary of shiny, processed rock.
Nellie Bly
