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Looks Like Rain (reissue, 1969) FAT POSSUM9/10

The beginning of a purple patch for country’s pioneering outlaw.

By Terry Staunton

ELVIS Presley’s performance of “An American Trilogy” in his groundbreaking 1973 global satellite concert and subsequent multi-platinum album Aloha From Hawaii helped bring one singer-songwriter to wider attention, far beyond his Nashville base. The portmanteau of traditional, patriotic songs from the 19th century was first assembled by Mickey Newbury who, back in country music’s stomping ground, was already making a serious name for himself.

Starting out as a jobbing songwriter, he fashioned hits for Roy Orbison, Tom Jones, Kenny Rogers and many more, while also working tirelessly to give others a leg-up. He persuaded old-school country chart regular Roger Miller to take a chance on “Me And Bobby McGee” by new kid on the block Kris Kristofferson, and also encouraged cut-fromsimilar-cloth contemporaries Guy Clark and Townes Van Zandt to move to Nashville.

Newbury’s own recording career had humble beginnings, with the underwhelming 1968 debut Harlequin Melodies comprised mostly of self-penned material others had already put their mark on. The man himself all but disowned the record, unhappy with the production and arrangements foisted upon him by RCA, prompting a bold step away from industry norms into the realm of the fledgling country outlaws.

The result was Looks Like Rain, a melancholic masterpiece that presents itself as a concept album in all but name. Country music had long been the terrain of the tearjerker, the pocket-sized tale of woe that rarely breached the three-minute mark, but Mickey’s focus was on a song cycle drilling deep into emotional despair, pain and regret.

At a time when Nashville favoured 10-track LPs lasting half an hour, Newbury poured his heart out on just seven songs, largely linked by rain sound effects, over a total running time just shy of 40 minutes. The choice of the off-thebeaten-track, primitive Cinderella Sound studio lent itself to a more intimate, atmospheric sonic palette, imbuing the lyrical subject matter with a tangible sense of isolation.

Perhaps because he was used to writing for other voices, Newbury reveals himself to be something of an actor, able to inhabit the role of narrator with world-weary ease. Heartbreak blends with comic irony on the raconteur punchline of “She Even Woke Me Up To Say Goodbye”, leading straight into “I Don’t Think Much About Her No More”, a shoulder-shrug codicil laced with the ambiguity of a man still hurting, but dismissive of his wounds.