Chattanooga singer-songwriter Nathan Bell has the odd habit of burdening some of his songs with parenthetical subtitles placed as if those songs' meanings could not be gleaned from merely, you know, listening. As you see above, he has extended the unfortunate practice to the cover of his new album, perhaps as a consequence of inexplicable artistic insecurity. This is to be lamented when Bell writes in fact with notable clarity.

In any event: Political -- also known as protest and topical -- songs have been around since songs were invented, which means very early in our evolutionary understanding of an unjust world around us. Bell is tied to the particular strain associated with (off the top of my head) Joe Hill, Aunt Molly Jackson, Woody Guthrie, Pete Seeger, early Bob Dylan, Phil Ochs, Bruce "Utah" Phillips, Hazel Dickens and on to the occasional composition by John Prine, John Fogerty and Bruce Springsteen. Though he doesn't sound especially like any one of them, he is obviously in degrees of debt to many or all.

Ably produced by Brian Brinkerhoff and Frank Swart, Red, White & American Blues is bleak enough to suit this pitch-dark moment in our national story. Bell, moreover, has something of an obsession with death (e.g., "I'm a dead man standing with a song to sing"). The musical landscape is a dystopia of collapsed capitalism dimly illuminated by brief light spilling over from an alternative universe where hope is still possible. Yet curiously, the album isn't depressing to listen to. Rather, it feels unexpectedly friendly, sharing an intimacy that reassures rather than intimidates. I don't know much about Bell personally, but his photograph suggests he is -- he definitely looks like -- the guy you think he would be: a flannel-shirted everyman working stiff. Except that you will catch immediately that he is not one you'd spot sporting a MAGA cap while storming the Capitol Building under a white-nationalist flag.

In addition, he possesses a certain touchingly mordant sense of humor, and his voice couldn't be better matched to the material. The notes tell us that the songs were put together over the eight years between 2011 and 2019, possibly explaining why no misfires sound; Bell presumably had plenty of time to hone them or discard them as the occasion required. He ingests his influences into unique songs, though the shared presence of folk, blues and the Rolling Stones ("Mossberg Blues" being practically a glass raised to the last) is not hard to discern. "Monday, Monday (the bony fingers reprise)" cleverly borrows from long-ago hits by the Mamas & the Papas and the all-but-forgotten Hoyt Axton (of whom one thinks on occasion as these cuts parade by one's ears). "Retread Cadillac" movingly celebrates the life and art of Houston bluesman Lightnin' Hopkins.

Only a relative few singer-songwriters have something to say that merits the attention of listeners who don't know them personally. Bell knows intuitively how to write a song for strangers as well as friends. I hope he writes more. Most of the competition would be proud to have created a single song here -- for example, "American Gun," sung with murderous cynicism from the perspective of the title implement -- but there are a dozen others with comparably mighty melodies, lyrics and ideas.

For that matter, the album may help you survive an era that sometimes appears all too ready to kill you. Should you fear such a fate, "When You're Dead" is there to tip you off to the advantages you may anticipate once settled into that state. Grim he may be, but the longer you hear what Bell has to offer, the more you get that he's as much a stand-up comic as an Old Testament prophet. Which doesn't mean his prophecies won't scare the hell out of you.

[ visit Nathan Bell's website ]