For his third album,
Tom House nearly cheers up. But no matter how hard he tries, his thin-as-a-wire voice gives him away -- he simply isn't the kind of guy who believes much in luck. Unless it's bad, of course. In his woeful songs family and friends are always long-gone; hopefulness is no more than an empty gesture. Like Steve Earle or a honky tonk
Tom Waits,
House writes and sings about simple folks torn asunder by their complicated lives. If
House didn't have a poet's eye for detail and a musician's ear for melodies that sound as old and natural as the hills, his existential pathos would be all but impossible to bear. Regardless of what he may believe, the third time indeed seems to be a charm of sorts for this alt-country underdog. ~ Brian Beatty