Record Revue: Mercy Bell, M.A.G.S., Sam Williams, and L Devine

Welcome to Record Revue, an EP and album review series

With recent headlines this week, and, you know, that pesky pandemic, I find myself clinging to music even more these days. The launch of this series last month inspires me to dig deep and reflect, losing myself in the work of some incredible artists unlike ever before. From the sterling warmth of ’90s country to sweaty pop beats, the second edition, as you’ll find, truly runs the gamut. It’s a double-edged sword having such eclectic taste in music.

Check out the latest batch of reviews below.

Mercy Bell, Golden Child EP

Between the fuzzy guitars, expanses of countryside appear swollen and baked red by the sun. That’s the experience, anyway, in listening to “Big Sky, Wide Open,” an essential off Mercy Bell’s latest EP offering. Golden Child submerses in ’90s country, stone-cold and shivering, a perfect vehicle for Bell’s songwriting pen and her caramel-tinted vocals. Seven songs melt together as a patchwork, various fictional character slipping into each other’s lives and then back out again. Touchstones like Lucinda Williams and Gillian Welch, as well as the glossiness of Shania Twain, peek through as fireflies beginning their twinkling orbits at sunset. Bell whisks you away into a storytelling wonderland, zip-lining from the veneer-cracking title track to the pitter-patter gallop in “One Life Stand,” etching her status as one of Americana’s finest. But don’t get too comfortable. With the finale “Atlantic City,” Bell does her damndest to bring you to your knees. “Everything dies, baby, that’s a fact,” her tears seem to sprinkle across her acoustic guitar. It’s a performance for a lifetime.

M.A.G.S., Say Things That Matter

Elliott Douglas seizes the listener by the earlobes and pulls you in like he’s swinging on vines. Say Things That Matter demonstrates an adeptness in style, oozing from his pores, and a charm you simply can’t teach. A 13-song smorgasbord, he roots himself in pop tradition, combing in indie-rock influence that gets down and dirty, and never seems to miss a cue as he bounces from the sexually-charged “Smile” and “Choked Out” to “Beachlove,” an elegant ritual depicting his adoration of seaside sights, sounds, and blissful pleasures. He moves with the precision of a sewing machine needle, often penetrating musical fabrics with a cold jab before he swoops in for delicate pattern-making and only allowing you one moment to catch your breath. “You ask too many questions,” he crows over a prickly percussive thread. “Recording all the reasons, yeah. And now you’re trying to make me… you’re gonna make me… you’re gonna… make… me… beg, beg, beg.” A wash of jangly guitars flood around his feet, permitting him to stomp out his emotions before it all recedes again into the shadows. There’s just something so downright magical about M.A.G.S. He’s a superstar in the making.

Sam Williams, Glasshouse Children

It’s quite refreshing to find Sam Williams forging his own stylistic path, rather than following ghost-like in the musical legacy which came before. With his debut LP, there are faint whispers of his grandfather Hank Williams, Sr. and his father Hank Williams, Jr., yet he largely exchanges classic country structures for the kind of sweeping and moody theatrics more in line with pop music. The titular cut floods with delicate stringwork, both ethereal and haunting, setting the stage for a truly unexpected smorgasbord. “Can’t Fool Your Own Blood” immerses in folk tradition, allowing an acoustic guitar to lead the arrangement. As among the most country-inspired setpieces, you certainly get a taste of what a straight ahead traditional collection may have sounded like. But therein lies the magic of Glasshouse Children; it’s steeped in far-reaching traditions, furthered with the crackling campfire ode “Bulleit Blues” and the far more polished “Wild Girl,” as well as the lyrical gemstone “Hopeless Romanticism.” “Hopeless romanticism, it’s fucking narcissism. I need to find a meeting and learn something about love addiction,” he sings on the latter, the gravel scraping the back of his throat. In whatever mold the music runs, Williams’ voice is the unwavering constant, so often brutally visceral in the way it punctures lyrics and melodies as a sewing machine needle through fabric. The record will most certainly disappoint some, but there’s no denying his ability to craft unforgettable stories.

L Devine, Near Life Experience Part One

L Devine lounges on a fuzzy, fuscia chaise. Her feet dangle over the velvet edge, and her lips purse along the glistening edge of a champagne flute, bubbles tickling her nose. That’s the experience when listening to Near Life Experience Part One. When her sort of sticky lyrical mixture isn’t draped around a ’90s throwback hip-hop vibration (“Wish That You Saw Me”), she’s firmly embodying the crunchiness of quirky-girl sensibility (“Priorities”) and casting her shattered heart into the cosmos (“Off the Grid”), jangly pieces morphing into yet another constellation of heartache and misery. “I wanna be in her bedroom / Look at all of her things / Touch the photos and frames,” sings Devine, plainspoken poetry seeping from her heart’s swollen seams. Later, with “Naked Alone,” a sweltering low-rider, the singer-songwriter pleads for “some sex,” whereas star-struck closer “Girls Like Sex” celebrates female sexuality and basic human desires. “Girls like sex — are you stupid or did you forget?” she provokes, rhetorically speaking of course. Across Near Life Experience, L Devine seizes the present moment, opting never to wallow in her pain but instead reassess what that means for who she can become.

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