Artist: Sarah Borges & The Broken Singles
Album: Love’s Middle Name
Label: Blue Corn Music
Release Date: 10.12.18
On the wagon and raising a kid now, Sarah Borges still loves gritty rock ‘n’ roll. Once again fronting The Broken Singles, after going solo for a stretch, the plucky punk with a heart of outlaw country gold is Joan Jett in a calico dress and cowgirl boots on Love’s Middle Name, knocking out a new LP full of piss and vinegar that’s also literary, tender and empathetic. The presence of Eric “Roscoe” Ambel, a founding member of Joan Jett & The Blackhearts, as producer/performer – as well as that of Borges’ old pal Binky on bass – probably had something to do with it.
All natural, often electrified Americana that’s gnarly and tough but unafraid to cry is served here, along with solid song structures, tenacious hooks and hard-hitting guitars and rhythms. There’s tousled beauty, too, and the heartache is real. Grounded in strong, authentic character development, earthy storytelling and savvy songwriting, Love’s Middle Name – her third album with the Broken Singles – is honest to a fault and somewhat unkempt, but always compelling. Deliriously infectious, the swinging, high-spirited “Get as Gone Can Get” is an exuberant blast of rip-roaring rockabilly that mixes it up with the strutting garage-rock of “Lucky Rocks” and “Let Me Try It” – so carefree and licentious, like Sheryl Crow’s “All I Wanna Do.” The tense, driving “Headed Down” motors along recklessly like John Doe and Exene Cervenka at the wheel of an old X song, and “Are You Still Taking Them Pills” locks raw, bare-knuckled acoustic strum together with smart handclaps in a stark, mean little shack of a song. The unvarnished truth of it reminiscing about a co-dependent drug relationship is jarring, but rewarding.
Populated by sinners and saints, the world of Love’s Middle Name has room for vulnerability, as world-weary country-folk ballads “I Can’t Change It,” “Grow Wings” and the painfully wistful “Oh Victoria” are lovely and affecting. Like those bittersweet ballads, the yearning first single “House on a Hill,” where Borges carries a torch for an ex-lover she once lived with, just wrecks you. Somehow both rugged and alluring, with drums that bash and pop and guitars that sting like salty tears, “House on a Hill” should top any song of the year list. It has an arresting chorus that immediately disarms you, and that slight warble in Borges’ vocals never sounded so fetching. It’s the sucker punch you didn’t see coming, and it hits you after the bell. The same could be said for the record as a whole.
—Peter Lindblad
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