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The Free Times - 07.09.08


The Free Times
Wednesday, July 9
BY KEVIN OLIVER

Mystic Man
Malcolm Holcombe

Café Strudel: Saturday, July 12

Malcolm Holcombe is one of those musicians who speaks his mind on whatever he's asked.
The problem, however, is that his answers are usually cryptic at best. Like his songs, sometimes it's best to just enjoy them for the colorful commentary they are without attempting to read too much, or too little into them.

An Asheville singer-songwriter whose craggy folk tunes have been compared to everyone from Tom Waits to Bill Morrissey, Holcombe is understandably wary of the business side of things.

Malcolm Holcombe


"I been fucked in the ass a few times, but haven't we all?", he says in response to a line of questioning about his ups and downs within the music industry. A profane bit of understatement, that, but at this resurgent point in his career he's content to let past label troubles lie and get on with the task at hand. This year, it's a new album, Gamblin' House, released in January.

The song that has received the most attention on the new disc is "Goodtimes," a stream of consciousness, non-linear narrative that sounds like a hallucinatory dream cobbled together from Dylan, Springsteen and Faulkner. Various interviewers have attempted to coax its meaning from the song's author, but so far, Holcombe hasn't been very forthcoming about it.

"Different songs mean different things to different people," Holcombe says in the way of non-explanation this time. "If you can tap your foot it's on the plus side, though I don't think that one's much of a foot-tapper."

He's aware of his own peculiar tastes in music, however.

"I was at this party 30 years ago, and they asked me to put some background music on," Holcombe says. "So I put on a Bob Dylan album."

It is in that refusal to let himself be cornered on much of anything regarding his music that Holcombe is at his most obtuse, as further questioning reveals. He likens the process of codifying music into easily digested explanations to a geometric solution.

"Shoeboxes or Pandora boxes, the world's full of boxes," Holcombe says. "We'll all fit into a box eventually, or be cremated, I guess."

The only song on the new album that he has readily admitted the inspiration for, in fact, is "Cynthia Margaret," which is his wife's name. Even with that explanation, however, Holcombe is noncommittal.

"The name just kind of fit into the tune," Holcombe says. "I've always liked names with more than one or two syllables, they roll off your tongue. It's a real pretty name that struck me as right for the song, and she's my soul mate, after all."

A Malcolm Holcombe performance isn't the typical straitlaced folk venue kind of show, as he is rarely constrained by whatever chair, stool, or microphone setup is provided. Holcombe sings like a man familiar with his own demons, raising up from his chair, leaning toward a too-short microphone stand, and generally just choosing to exorcise his songs rather than simply sing them. Here, too, he has a simple yet inscrutable explanation.

"Everybody's got their own little movements when they play," Holcombe says. "I'm just trying to keep rigor mortis at bay."

Café Strudel is located at 118 State St. in West Columbia. Doors open at 8 p.m.; admission is $10. Call 794-6634 or visit cafestrudel.com for more information.

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Connect Savannah - 07.09.08


Connect Savannah
JULY 9, 2008
BY JIM REED

Prayin' in the Gamblin' House
Malcolm Holcombe returns, with a new CD

FOR FOLKS WHO APPRECIATE HEARTFELT EMOTION, understated, poetic lyricism and rough, unadorned, bluegrass-inflected country music that pulls no punches, Malcolm Holcombe is among the very best talents alive today.

Raised in Weaverville, N.C., he’s lived a life others throw away nightly — one that’s taken him all the way from the competetive drag of Nashville showcases to a stint on Geffen Records (back when major labels still meant something positive for artists of his ilk), and back again to his humble, Appalachian roots.

Malcolm Holcombe

Long known as something of a “secret hero” among others in his profession —some much more famous and/or successful than he— over the past few years, a dogged touring schedule and increasingly steady stream of powerful independent albums have put him in front of more people worldwide than might have seemed possible a decade ago. Now, with his brand-new CD Gamblin’ House hitting the Top 10 on the U.S. Americana Music charts, Holcombe’s work seems to finally be receiving deserved adulation from an increasingly large and diverse audience.

It’s always a joy to speak with this opinionated —but humble— student of his craft, because his gruff cadence contradicts his gentle nature, and his homspun analogies and aphorisms always seem to hint at well-reasoned, profound truths.

I caught up with this unpretentious seer by phone at his rural home in advance of his highly anticipated repeat engagement at a local counterculture coffeehouse (where he’s one of the very few acts that can easily command a $10 cover).

Have I caught you in the middle of anything?

Malcolm Holcombe: I’m just sittin’ around. We’ve got a few friends over for the Fourth of July, and that’s real nice. ‘Cept there’s about a million flies in the house. I don’t know who invited them, ya know?

Did you set off any fireworks?

Malcolm Holcombe: Well, Jesse’s nine-and-a-half, so of course we had a few.

Are fireworks legal in N.C.?

Malcolm Holcombe: I don’t know. Maybe? We had a few friends run up and down the road and they grabbed some in Tn., along with another couple buddies that absconded with some out of state doo-dads...

Sorry we’re starting this interview a bit late, but my old van was giving me trouble.

Malcolm Holcombe: I know how that is, man. I’ve sunk a lot of money into a Jeep Grand Cherokee. It’s got 188,000 miles on it! (laughs)

Yeah, well, it’s just that I’m not mechanically inclined at all. I couldn’t fix this thing if my life depended on it.

Malcolm Holcombe: That’s alright there, Jim. Everybody’s good at something.

To those of us who are just observers of your art, it seems you’re experiencing something of a resurgence of interest in your music of late. Does it feel that way to you?

Malcolm Holcombe: A resurgence of interest?

Yeah. It seems like you’ve had a more steady output of records for the past few years and I hear your name here and there more often. Do you get the feeling more people are interested in what you’re up to these days?

Malcolm Holcombe: Ya hang around the barbershop long enough, you’re gonna get a haircut. How does that work for you? (laughs)

(Laughs) Well, I can certainly appreciate that. Speaking of haircuts, when’s the last time you had one?

Malcolm Holcombe: Well, that’s been a long time. It’s been a long time. I remember it was 75 cents, and then a dollar and then a dollar and a quarter when I was growing up in Weaverville. They charge you more now because people have gotta look at magazines and hair like Mr. and Mrs. Jones, you know?”

You mean a hairstyle as opposed to a haircut?

Malcolm Holcombe: Yep. It used to be a haircut and now it’s a hairstyle! I’ve got other things on my mind. Besides, of course, you can always catch up on some good gossip in the chair. That same barbershop’s still there in Weaverville. I haven’t been there in a while, but it’s still open on Main Street. I remember being about seven, eight or nine years old with all these old guys sitting there smoking cigarettes. A boy couldn’t hardly breathe in there.

What’s the biggest difference between the way you live your life today as say, ten years ago?

Malcolm Holcombe: Well, I got a beautiful family. And, uh, thanks to fans and friends and the grace of the good Lord, I can do some travelling and see some beautiful people and the country and be of service to my fellow man. That’s what I’m tryin’ to be available for. That’s why I’m talkin’ to you again, and thanks for workin’ this one. You’ve always been real kind and a lot of other folks, too. That keeps me and my family with food in our bellies and a roof on our back.

You can probably hear me typing frantically as we talk.

Malcolm Holcombe: Hell, you’re typin’ like a scalded dog! (laughs)

You tour mostly as a solo act, but lately, you’ve been making records with additional musicians or sometimes a full-band. Is it hard for you to shift into that mode of working when you go in the studio?

Malcolm Holcombe: Naw. Shucks no. I was really grateful to be able to use the same band for this new one Gamblin’ House and for the one before, Wager. The bass player, David Roe Rorick, I’d never met him, but we had mutual friends. He’s a pro and a real honest fellow. And gifted. I’ve known (producer) Ray (Kennedy) a long time, and (multi-instrumentalist) Ed Snodderly. So we just got together and said we’ll start it like this and end it like this and have some fun in the middle. (laughs) Yeah, its very humbling to be able to put out another record. We’ve had a lot of support from friends to make it all happen.

Well, these days, I’d say that’s what it takes.

Malcolm Holcombe: We were just talkin’ about Bill Monroe and listening to a lot of old 78s. You know, whether it’s country or bluegrass or whatever you might call it, a lot of folks opened up doors before we ever got in the vans. From the Martha White bus to the old station wagon to the ‘62 or maybe ‘63 Ford 289 rust bucket. How we get around. We gotta get around some way or another. “I’ll Change Your Flat Tire, Merle” — who did that?”

Is that a song?

Malcolm Holcombe: Yeah! You never heard that one?

No, I don’t believe so, but it sounds great. You and your contemporaries on the modern roots-songwriter scene are certainly carrying on a tradition that’s been around for decades.

Malcolm Holcombe: Yeah, we were just talking about a dear friend for pushin’ on 30 years. Talkin’ with him about a young crop of kids that are just pickin’ up one side and down the other. And with soul, not just notes! They’ve got soul and movement to ‘em, some of these young folk, from all over the country. I heard about these three young kids, The Tuttles. They got that cross-pickin’ on the mandolin and acoustic guitar and that lonesome sound that’s kind of bred into your bones. Just like the gospel bands that carry on and keep them old songs floatin’ around.

When I’ve seen you play live, you remind me a lot of John Lee Hooker.

Malcolm Holcombe: Uh-huh?

In that you have your own internal sense of rhythm that makes perfect sense when you’re the only guy onstage, but I imagine could be very difficult for other players to follow — or for you to bend to a common meter or tempo. What sort of effort does that require on your part or theirs to serve the songs best?

Malcolm Holcombe: Well, I just try to pay attention, you know? I try to look at least with one eye on land and head for some direction with the other.

Tell me a bit about this new label that’s behind you. They’re based nearby your home?

Malcolm Holcombe: Yeah, they’re based in Asheville. They’re called Echo Mountain records, and they’re an indie, fledgling label. They’ve been very supportive, and I’ve been grateful to work with them. They’re working very hard over there. I’m especially grateful for the artistic control and freedom that was given to Ray Kennedy and Myself. It was very welcomed and appreciated to be working with Ray and to be able to keep the breath off our necks. (laughs) Yes. So, there wasn’t anybody breathin’ down our necks but each other!

I know you’ve run into some debilitating trouble with the music biz in the past. Does this feel like a comfortable label situation so far?

Malcolm Holcombe: Well, you know, we’ve all got levels of comfort and that’s directly related to our degree of spirituality. So, there you go.

What sort of goals or hopes does this label have for your career, and how much of a role are they looking to play in making those things happen?

Malcolm Holcombe: Well, I can’t second-guess anybody that I know or work with. That’s some thing.

How long did it take to actually make this new album?

Malcolm Holcombe: About five or six days. We had enough songs to do an EP called Wager, and then the new LP Gamblin’ House. We hunkered down and did them both at the same time.

Did you decide which songs would be used for the EP ahead of time, or only after you had a chance to listen to the totality of the work you’d done?

Malcolm Holcombe: After we got all the songs together and listened to ‘em, me and Ray and my wife all sat down and drew names out of the hat. You know, to make sure our heads were bigger than the hat.

I’m curious about the packaging for the new album. Did you draw the cover?

Malcolm Holcombe: No, goodness no! I had a fractured idea, and I called a buddy of mine who’s an architect and a blues player. I ran it by him and said, see if you can scratch this out. I was glad he was able to do it.

Is there a constant conceptual theme that runs through Gamblin’ House?

Malcolm Holcombe: Well, you know these have been difficult times the world over, and in our country and in every other country there are crosses to bear, you know? So, it’s been on many hearts and many minds, from soldiers to children to parents, grandparents and great-grandparents. Every generation has a responsibility and an accountability to their God and their family and fellow man. So there’s just a lot of points that have surfaced in these last few years that needed my attention, and that I felt I was obligated to contribute my opinion and thoughts on. Hopefully they’ll help reflect what’s on the minds and in the hearts of people in America and throughout the world. Now, whether that’s achieved or not, I don’t know. That’s not my job to make such a call. That’s what I learned a long time ago in Nashville — they told me, “If you sling enough bologna up against the wall, some of it’s gonna stick.

Where did the idea come from for the drawing inside the CD that folds out into a poster?

Malcolm Holcombe: I’m not too handy with a pencil, but I had this idea for the poster —which is also the artwork on the CD itself— and so I kinda sketched out a little “caveman drawing” and then Ray Kennedy’s mentioned his wife was good with a pen, so I let her take a stab at it. She made it come to life. She made it her own. Her name’s Siobhan, which is Irish. Ray’s wife really put a trip on that man, and she nailed it!

Do you have a favorite track on the record or is there a particular tune you see as the focal point of the album?

Malcolm Holcombe: “Gamblin’ House.” There’s a couple of ‘em I like good, but I don’t know, Jim. Songs are songs and kids are kids, man, and you get into this muse thing... Well, I think that’s bullshit! I mean, that’s my opinion. I got no problem with anybody else, right or wrong.

I’m curious as to your songwriting process. I’m sure each song may come to you in its own unique way, but I wonder if you ever have a topic or a tale or a thought in mind that you want to express in song, and so you actually try to write a lyric that will somehow get across an existing idea, or if it’s more common that you simply write a song, and only later perhaps come to understand what it means to you.

Malcolm Holcombe: Well, you know, if you wanna get a haircut, or you think you need a haircut, you gotta walk into the barbershop! You stand out in the middle of the street, you’ll get run over. So, what’s that old saying? The lazy foot gathers no moss? Or corns. Yeah, man, I gotta cut my corns. You ever had corns?

No, I don’t believe so. Is that like a bunion?

Malcolm Holcombe: Sorta, but it’s deep-rooted in your foot. You need a damn mouse to pull it out. You gotta dig down there to get to it. So, if you think you need a sing that needs writin’, you gotta sit down and put a pen in your hand and grab it. Go ahead, change a tire and get to work!

Have you ever gone through extended periods where the songs just wouldn’t come?

Malcolm Holcombe: Nah. Like I said, you gotta be willin’ to show up. Either get behind the wheel or stick your thumb out. Put a pencil in your hand, or maybe you got a good memory. Somthin’ that rattles your ribs with a butter knife or somethin’ that really sings in your heart. That gestates in there. You know, hey man, you made it to work! Put another tire on, fix the engine, whatever you need to do. You play too, don’t you? How’s that band of yours doin’?

Well, we’re actually about to out a new CD.

Malcolm Holcombe: That’s great!

We’re calling it our “country record”. It’s about as country as we get. We do a Mel Tillis song on there, though, so that’s pretty darn country. (laughs)

Malcolm Holcombe: I always liked Mel Tillis. Lord, yeah! I can’t wait to hear it, man.

You’ve played Savannah several times it the past, and usually at the Sentient Bean. Is that venue similar at all to the types of places you normally play, or is the size and the way it’s laid out kind of an exception to the rule?

Malcolm Holcombe: Hey man, they got electricity. More importantly, some people show up! It’s a very pretty town and it’s one of our favorite places to play.

In the past we’ve talked about some of your songwriting heroes and people you consider tops at their game. Are there any artists you’ve been enjoying listening to lately that you could recommend to folks?

Malcolm Holcombe: Yeah, David Olney. I’ve been doing some shows with David. I’ve known him for pushin’ on 20 years. Man, he is hot as a fox. Pertinent. And he’s rockin; hard. He’s a wonderful player. Soulful, serious, slappin’ it, man! Ticklin’, slitherin’ and floatin’ and everything else. (laughs) Yeah, David’s a-slitherin’ and a-floatin’!

We just celebrated Independence Day. Any thoughts on what that might mean to you or the rest of the country in this day and age?

Malcolm Holcombe: Well, I tell you what. I voted for Obama. It’s time to shake things up and he’s gettin’ a lot of younger people out there to register. I think he has a purpose and soul very akin to JFK and Martin Luther King, and I really have faith and hope in this gentleman. I’ve got faith and hope and that’s what keeps us goin’, right? Family, friends and the universe.

I just have a few more short questions. What’s the single biggest misconception you think people may have of you?

Malcolm Holcombe: Ahhhh... There you go again! (laughs) I can’t second-guess people, you know.

What’s the hardest part about being Malcolm Holcombe?

Malcolm Holcombe: Well, it’s just a continuum to strengthen my spirituality and my relationship to God and my fellow man. I always gotta check my motives.

What’s the best part about being Malcolm Holcombe?

Malcolm Holcombe: I’ve been blessed. To be a spit in the ocean is very humbling, and to see smiles and laughter and have the fundamentals: a beautiful family and friends. We all have to separate the wheat from the chaff. It’s an ongoing, progressive lot in life.

What: Malcombe Holcombe

Where: The Sentient Bean

When: 8 pm, Fri., July 11

Cost: $10 for ALL-AGES

Info: malcolmholcombe.com, sentientbean.com

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Courier Mail (Australia) 06.20.08


Courier Mail
Brisbane, Queensland
Friday, June 20

PDF Article

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Go Triad - 06.19.08


Go Triad
Off-beat wisdom finds its way into lyrics
by Joe Scott
June 19, 2008

One could spend an evening talking to folk singer Malcolm Holcombe and walk away with enough quotes from the conversation to fill a decent-sized coffee table book.

"Everybody's got their cross to bear, and everybody needs the wood."

"It takes what it takes to find out where the damned coffee pot is, don't it?"

"The best place to be is in a position to help others."

The singer-songwriter dropped these pearls of wisdom throughout a phone interview last week from his home near Asheville.

A lot of the same off-beat wisdom can be found on Holcombe's newest album, "Gamblin' House," a collection of 12 rambling folk ditties released in January. Recorded in Asheville, the album is a pastiche of religious symbols, wild derelict rants and hard living in small towns. In many of his compositions, the gravel-voiced singer-songwriter's lyrics can be just as mysterious or colorful as his way of speaking.

In the song "Goodtimes, " Holcombe growls: "Scratch a dirty beggar's back/Preach a burnin' paper sack/A comic strip salooner's breath/Stealin' from a loser's nest."

Perhaps the one song with the most discernable lyrics is "Cynthia Margaret," an ode Holcombe wrote about his wife.

"Pretty as a picture of the mountains that lie beneath the sky of a broken mind/and Cynthia Margaret is an angel o' mine."

Despite the well-meaning beauty of his lyrics, Holcombe says his wife wasn't too thrilled with the serenade.

"She works hard, but she's kind of shy," Holcombe says. "She's not a socialite."

Holcombe has called the hills near Asheville his home for most of his life, but he attempted to ply his craft in Florida.

"I stayed drunk, played some gigs, blew a bunch of money, and that's about it," Holcombe says. "It was kind of short-lived."

After Florida, Holcombe later ventured north to Nashville, Tenn., to learn what he could about the music industry. Although he says he never intended to make it big, the experience caused him to rethink his intentions as an artist and consider what he hoped to accomplish musically.

"This ain't no get-rich-quick scheme; it's a scheme, but it ain't get-rich-quick," Holcombe says.

"Not to be overanalytical, but it's like when you get hit in the head with a frying pan. After so many knots in the head, you start reading the bumps, then you come up with little connect-the-dots, and sometimes there's a little ray of clarity that sifts through the smog."

These days, to keep his ego in check, Holcombe views his work as a musician as more of a public service than as a means of commercial gain.

"I'm better off spiritually if I look at it as a service," Holcombe says. "If I put my (expletive) in that kind of position, then maybe my mind is going to follow."

Aside from music, Holcombe says he enjoys working in his garden.

"I got some 'maters and corn, cucumbers and squash and some bell peppers," Holcombe says. "It's good to get your thumbs into the dirt."

Joe Scott is a freelance contributor. Contact him at movieshowjoe@gmail.com.

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Lonesome Highway Magazine (Ireland) March 2008


Lonesome Highway Magazine
Malcolm Holcombe

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Tuscaloosa News - 03.27.08


Tuscaloosa News
By Ben Windham
Editorial Editor
March 27, 2008

MALCOLM HOLCOMBE
'Gamblin' House' (Echo Mountain Records)

'Gamblin' House' offers a mental workout

I don't know if Malcolm Holcombe of Weaverville, N.C., is related to the late Roscoe Holcombe of Daisy, Ky., but if he were I wouldn't be surprised.

Malcolm is contemporary and Roscoe made his best recordings more than 50 years ago. But both of these Appalachian musicians are true-blue iconoclasts, about as far out of the country mainstream as they come.

Roscoe Holcombe, who sang and played the banjo, had a voice as rough and craggy as the granite hills behind his barn. He took many a traditional song around the bend and some of them never made it back.

On the other hand, Malcolm Holcombe's whiskey baritone sounds like the last few sips of white lightnin' in a Mason jar and a couple Camel unfiltereds. And unlike the older songster, Holcombe writes his own words and tunes.

Mostly, his lyrics are elliptical. By themselves, they don't mean a whole lot. You have to hear the music to read much meaning into a song like 'Goodtimes' on his new CD, 'Gamblin' House,' on Echo Mountain Records:

Vomit up sweet Charlottesville cider

Closets full of thirsty liars

Sweatshop petshop across the street

Lovely, lovely pitiful feet ...

But the music, delivered with a large side-order of grunts and mumbles, drives the song along like an old-timey hoedown. With references to cotton candy, hot dogs, picnic lunches and even 'Gone With the Wind,' it's a carnival of Southern imagery.

Songs like 'The Shade,' however, are pretty literal. It's the best song about getting out of the sun I've ever heard.

'Evelyn' is another fine piece. It may be about sneaking that sweet, crazy taste of illicit love — I'm not really sure — but it's the only one-drop Appalachian reggae tune I've ever heard. And it works.

There's some Dylanesque philosophy in 'Baby Likes a Love Song,' that proceeds from revealed wisdom to borderline banality. A much harder piece of romantic balladry is Holcombe's 'Cynthia Margaret' (what a great name!), which celebrates an earth angel:

Crossroads backwoods gravel and time

Pretty as a picture of the mountains that lie

Beneath the sky of one broken mind ...

I love this kind of off-kilter stuff. It may not be very commercial but it sure helps scrub out some of the mental plaque that builds up after too much exposure to the same old, same old.

I also was going to write that Holcombe reminds me of Steve Earle without the politics, but then I looked at the poster folded inside the CD. It shows a grinning fox holding in his left hand a little black puppy over a bowl of dog food titled 'Malcolm Holcombe.' In his right hand, the fox holds the leash on a sharp-toothed dino-raptor. The White House is in the rear; on its dome is the logo 'Gamblin' House.'I think that's a pretty overt political statement. And you can read politics into some of Holcombe's lyrics, like:

I chainsmoke and complain goin' for broke

Your silly smile on TV stinks a country mile

I'd rather have a home I can believe in

I'd rather have a home I can call mine ...

Yeah, I've seen that newscast.

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Austin Chronicle - 03.24.08


Austin Chronicle
Music: March 14, 2008
Live Shots
SXSW showcase reviews
By Audra Schroeder
http://www.austinchronicle.com/gyrobase/Issue/review?oid=oid%3A601953

Malcolm Holcombe
Stephen F's Bar, Wednesday, March 12

Gamblin' House, the latest album from North Carolina guitarist Malcolm Holcombe, sounds like the blues. No doubt Holcombe's had them many times in his life: His voice is all gravel and sandpaper, and his appearance, that of a friendly drifter or war-scarred Southern uncle. And he's got stories, many miles of road, and that's part of his populist appeal. Alternating between sitting and standing hunched over the mic, Holcombe became the proverbial storyteller, making something as mundane as "Goin' Downtown" sound like the kind of story that gets told before a bar fight: "I gotta hundred dollar bill in Denver, Colorado. I got holes in my pockets, gonna buy an El Dorado." "Baby Likes a Love Song" and "The Shade" were sweeter fare, and his melodies were spare and seductive, but most of Gamblin' House rambles in protest songs, and Holcombe jerked and strummed, almost possessed, the way old blues musicians used to when they felt the spirit move them.

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Americanaroots - 03.04.08


Americanaroots
Malcolm Holcombe - Gamblin House
Written by John Walker
Tuesday, 04 March 2008

Who is Malcolm Holcombe? During a recent interview with Justin Townes Earle, he mentioned Holcombe as one of today’s best songwriters. Holcombe is known for his rugged and rustic music, delivered with a rough gravely voice, heavily accentuated by his amazing acoustic guitar picking. Often compared with John Prine or Guy Clark, it is Holcombe’s intense style that captures you. He attacks the music with a force few can. Holcombe says, “If you are going to dig a ditch, dig a deep one. If you are going to shine a shoe, shine it good. If you are going to stand in front of a crowd with a guitar and play music, make it worth their while.”

Linking up with acclaimed producer Ray Kennedy, Holcombe certainly delivers with his new CD entitled Gamblin’ House. Holcombe actually wrote 18 songs for this CD before selecting the best 12 to include. His simple lyrics flow with each song, but it is the passion in which they are delivered that brings it home.

Holcombe’s guitar picking will remind many of Lightnin’ Hopkins, or the great Townes Van Zandt. He has the ability to squeeze those strings and make them sing. From the very beginning, with the first song titled “My Ol’ Radio,” Holcombe takes the listener on a memorable journey. He has his poignant moments, such as the moving song “Blue Flame” and “I’d Rather Have A Home,” and a touch of the blues with the grinding “Evelyn.”

It is the passion which flows from “Baby Likes A Love Song” and “You Don’t Come See Me Anymore” that allows Holcombe to shine at his best. Accompanied by his mesmerizing acoustic guitar, Holcombe can captivate you with his portrayal of
loneliness, clearly painting a sad picture to share with the listener.
Gamblin’ House is a good CD for those that love the art of a guitar master. Holcombe does get great support from his band, which includes Kenny Malone on drums, Ed Snodderly on several string instruments, David Roe Rorick on base, Kirk “Jelly Roll” Johnson on harmonica, Chris Carmichael on ceilo and viola, and Siobhan Maher Kennedy providing background vocals.

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Austin Chronicle - 03.07.08


Austin Chronicle
March 7, 2008
BY DOUG FREEMAN

Malcolm Holcombe
Gamblin' House (Echo Mountain)

With the guttural causticity of an Appalachian bred Howlin' Wolf, "My Ol' Radio" and "Goodtimes" open Holcombe's sixth album moaning self-satisfaction like Austin's Scott H. Biram full up on chicken. "Goin' Downtown" and the title track grin with defiant self-destruction, the latter declaring, "I'm soakin' up the slaughter, I'm lyin' through my teeth, my calculated coffin, don't tell me what I need." Few songwriters can pen lines that provocative, much less bring them convincingly to life. And the Asheville, N.C.-based Holcombe just as easily encompasses the subtly beautiful (John Prine-esque "Baby Likes a Love Song") and devastatingly broken ("You Don't Come See Me Anymore"). Gamblin' House falters only in its production polish, which dilutes the singer's raw power. Still, cut along the same rough grain as Billy Joe Shaver and Guy Clark, Holcombe's no gamble. (Wednesday, March 12, Stephen F's Bar, 9pm.)

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Popmatters - 03.06.08


Popmatters (UK)
6 March 2008
Malcolm Holcombe
Gamblin' House
(Echo Mountain)
US release date: 29 January 2008
UK release date: Available as import
by Steve Horowitz

The first thing one notices when listening to North Carolina native Malcolm Holcombe is his voice. To call it gruff is like calling the Empire State Building tall, or the Grand Canyon wide. The self-professed smoker sounds like he swallows unfiltered Camels whole and washes them down with cheap moonshine from a brown bottle. Holcombe may sonically appear to be as old as the hills, but generally has the concerns of a younger man. And the thing is, the Tar Heel singer’s coarse country vocals have a populist appeal. He sounds like the kind of guy one might swap stories with at a bar or barbershop, and smile a lot at the easy flow of conversation.

The next thing one realizes is that Holcombe’s colorful language doesn’t always mean anything in particular. He writes catchy non sequiturs and tales that seem to take off into nonsense. “The closet’s full of thirsty liars / The sweatshop, pet shop across the street / Lovely, lovely pitiful Pete / Antique babies and goodtime gin,” Holcombe croaks on one song. It’s not clear what he’s talking about in “Goodtimes”, but it’s understood he’s having fun. “Living in the waters of a gamblin’ house,” he snorts on the title tune, yet it’s never clear how literally or metaphorically he means this.

That’s not to say Holcombe always rambles. His love for his wife “Cynthia Margaret” comes across loud and clear even if the lyrics don’t always make sense. “Blown by the breeze of G-d’s only eye,” he cryptically sings about her. And there’s a powerful song protesting the current state of America, “I’d Rather Have a Home”, where he lambastes both President Bush (“Your silly smile on TV stinks a country mile”) and a nation where the poor have to fight our wars (“They pick and choose the needy to be brave”). When the seriousness of the topic merits, Holcombe makes sure he’s comprehensible.

The third thing one discerns about the North Carolinian’s disc is just how appealing his melodies are. They’re either toe-tappers, or the kind of instrumentation that makes the listener hold one’s breath in wonder of what will happen next. The combination of Holcombe’s distinctive vocals, lively lyrics, and seductive tunes make this a formidable record, but … there is also something affected about this disc. We live in an age where regional differences have been smoothed out in our national culture; where breakfast, lunch and supper taste identical at the same chain restaurants across the nation; where country singers come from the city and urban rappers come from rural zip codes. Television, the Internet, and a million other diverse influences have made growing up anywhere in the United States the same basic experience.

Holcombe makes a point of being different, of being authentic, and by all accounts he is the character he sings as. But we all are part of the mix. Holcombe proclaiming his rural roots isn’t much different, than to use a counter example, than President Bush calling himself a Texan. That doesn’t mean this isn’t an excellent record—it is—but don’t confuse this with reality. Holcombe is as much a construct as the next musician. His artifice is part of his art.

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NY Daily News - 03.04.08


Malcolm Holcombe's new album has harshness, wit and some pretty music
Tuesday, March 4th 2008, 4:00 AM

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Malcolm Holcombe has a voice so husky and grizzled, it makes Steve Earle sound like Julie Andrews. He growls, snarls, wheezes and, in one cut, even seems to cough up spittle.

Need I say he sings the blues? Holcombe's latest CD, "Gamblin' House," once again matches his rusted voice to torn and frayed acoustic guitars, slippery slides and shaky dobros. It's Holcombe's return to a full band setup, after his last solo acoustic work. Just don't expect all that much elaboration. Basses dab, drums tap and guitars shudder vaguely in the background. Nothing gets in the way of the voice, and nothing should.

In the title track, Holcombe exhales some notes with rapturous contempt. He curls around others with sarcastic cunning.

Not every sound goes for something harsh. The ballad "You Don't Come See Me Anymore" has a caring melody you can sway to. In "Blue Flame," a gray cello lends an austere beauty, while a fiddle caresses and a banjo stitches something pretty around the tune. Here, Holcombe comes as close as he's going to get to a croon.

Much of the rest is so extreme, it's no wonder he exaggerates some phrases enough to offer a wink of self-parody. On the one hand, when Holcombe calls out to a character called Evelyn in a song named after her, it brings to mind the power of Marlon Brando yelling to Stella in "Streetcar." But there's also a hint of self-aware wit amid the violence. It's the ability to call up that violence, of course, that makes Holcombe deep.

Like a well-lined face, or a shaky body, his voice has experience and fear in it, an honesty that, by turns, cheers and chills.

jfarber@nydailynews.com
http://www.nydailynews.com/entertainment/music/2008/03/04/2008-03-04_malcolm_holcombes_new_album_has_harshnes.html

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Exile in Dunganville - Gaston Alive - February 2008


Spotlight on...Malcolm Holcombe
"Gamblin' House"

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Country Standard Time - 02.29.08


Malcolm Holcombe
"Gamblin' House"

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American Songwriter - March/April 2008


Malcolm Holcombe
"Gamblin' House"

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The Daily Times - 02.29.08


Holcombe kicks in the door of the 'Gamblin' House'

By Steve Wildsmith
of The Daily Times Staff
steve.wildsmith@thedailytimes.com

http://www.thedailytimes.com/article/20080229/ENT/224468534

Like a disheveled, wild-eyed hermit who calls a cave high up in the Smokies home, Malcolm Holcombe has emerged once again to impart some musical wisdom to the masses.

This time, it’s in the form of his new album — “Gamblin’ House,” a record that showcases his signature style: growling, hissing, hollering and singing with a voice that lovers of Bob Dylan would swoon over and guitar-playing that alternates between a murderous choke-hold on the neck and a lover’s caress of the strings.

This time around, Holcombe teamed up with noted producer Ray Kennedy (who, with fellow Americana maverick Steve Earle, once made up a production team known as the Twangtrust). With Kennedy’s help, Holcombe fills out the record with light touches of percussion, banjo and more.

It’s one thing to describe the record, however, and it’s another thing entirely to ask Holcombe to describe the process. He’s a product of his environment — the mountains of Western North Carolina — and a conversation with him is filled with off-the-wall analogies, cryptic metaphors and a language that’s as foreign as it can be meandering.

“I wanted to work with Ray — I’ve been biting at the bit to get in the saddle with him for a long time,” Holcombe told The Daily Times this week. “I got a whiff of the pot boiling over there at Echo Mountain (Studios), and I just went over there and we thought we’d just jump in the pot, you know? Just jump in and turn it up to a nice hot boil. We picked a couple of bones off the side of the road, put ’em in our noses and starting whooping and hollering in the pot. We had a lot of fun.

“It was humbling and real spark-ified, you know? He’s just a very creative killdare. He let me go ahead and hold the bobby pin, and we just went ahead and put it in the wall socket, so we was able to share the jitters. I was very grateful to be able to collaborate with him. Even though he was a producer, I appreciate him lending an ear to some of the ideas that came up, and once that pot was a boiling, he helped me stir it up a little bit, chop up some meat and vegetables and, hopefully, make it a little palatable to the folks who lend an ear.”

For those scratching their heads or re-reading the preceding paragraphs, know this — that’s just Holcombe. As he sings on the title track of “Gamblin’ House,” he’s got his own set of problems and his own kind of rules.

Born in Asheville, N.C., and raised in nearby Weaverville, Holcombe learned to play the flat-top guitar and joined up with a folk group called The Hilltoppers. Playing fairs, dances and shows throughout the small town of Weaverville and thereabouts, he fed his spirit a steady diet of folk, traditional Appalachian ballads and bluegrass.

In 1976, he drifted to Florida and, in 1990, Nashville, where he worked odd jobs and soaked up as much of the business side of the industry as possible before going back to North Carolina. He’s cut several albums over the years, including one for Geffen, “A Hundred Lies,” that earned a four-star review from Rolling Stone. He’s been compared to Bruce Springsteen for the way he paints vivid portraits with his songs, turning them into haunting, brooding, moving affairs. There’s an ache of loveliness and loneliness, of torment and hope, threaded through each of his songs. It’s the groan of weathered timber from an abandoned mountain cabin during a spring storm, the lonesome bark of a coyote on the other side of a ridge or the whine of a locomotive cutting through Appalachian valleys in the dark of night.

It’s not easy, listening to his songs — there’s no clear message, no distinct narrative, that makes a Malcolm Holcombe song easy to follow. Likewise, his performances can be spiritual exorcisms — intense excoriations of the demons that haunt Holcombe’s soul. The payoff, however, is in listening and watching with care. One song’s meaning (“Cynthia Margaret,” for example, about his wife) will dawn clear as a new day, and the furious darkness of groans and foot-stomping and violent guitar strokes will give way to a languid, fluid style that transforms him into the kindly old man holding court on the porch of the corner store.

“I didn’t come up with the ideas for this record by eatin’ too much ice cream,” he said. “The theme just kind of made itself. A lot of it’s about politics, about a country in trouble. Our country’s been in trouble for years and years, in my opinion, with this administration, and I think that it’s as plain as the nose on the American people’s faces. It’s time to shake up the White House, and I’m voting for Obama.”

Suddenly, the homespun homilies and the quaint sayings seem to vanish. There’s a serious tone as he discusses the wave of change he feels is sweeping the nation, and he goes off on a tirade against President Bush. He speaks of his experiences touring Europe, and how Bush’s shadow falls on the face of every American. He speaks of his past and his future, and of the evolution — of man, of the land, of his music.

And suddenly, just a quickly as he began, he falls back into that guarded, affable personality that can be mistaken by the untrained eye as that of a backwoods bumpkin with a guitar. Holcombe, however, is anything but — although it doesn’t bother him if that’s what you think.

“We just had a lot of fun with this record,” he said. “I think we were trying to go for just as raw and back-porch pickin’ as we could, to just come up with something that’s real and raw and right in your face.

“I think it sounds like a pretty good record for a crazy man. It’s all that reverb, I reckon.”

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Wall Street Journal - 02.14.08



A Hardscrabble Life in Music
By JIM FUSILLI
February 14, 2008; Page D7
Weaverville, N.C.

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB120295185176066985.html?mod=weekend_leisure_banner_left

PDF: Wall Street Journal

The tidy, upscale strip that serves as downtown still looks enough like old Weaverville that the 52-year-old singer-songwriter Malcolm Holcombe can point to his childhood barbershop. The house his grandfather once owned still stands around the corner. But the area in and around nearby Asheville is awash in new construction, and the Sunnyside Café here no longer features live music and now serves a quiche of the day. In his battered ball cap, tatty work shirt and frayed jeans, Mr. Holcombe seems a visitor from the past.

Mr. Holcombe's new album, "Gamblin' House" (Echo Mountain), his fifth that's still in print, largely tamps down his most arresting traits -- his whip-crack growl and almost violent attack on guitar -- and the songs aren't as poignant as his best ones of the past. But the CD's bittersweet, country-folk music with a raging man at its core reminds us there is no one on the contemporary scene like Mr. Holcombe, who somehow can convey raw fury and deep affection at the same time. His career, though, has had more stops than fruitful starts and still isn't equal to his talents.

"I don't know if you'd call what I have a 'career,'" he told me over lunch at the Sunnyside, his voice coarsened by nonstop smoking. "I'm just trying to maintain."

In publicity photos, Mr. Holcombe seems chiseled and iconic, but he's shorter than they suggest, with a hint of sadness around his pale blue eyes: He seems a gentle old soul with a hard shell. Years ago, a son died, and Mr. Holcombe has struggled with drugs and alcohol; a friend, "Gamblin' House" producer Ray Kennedy, figures he's been sober for about five years.

I first saw Mr. Holcombe perform in late 2005 at Joe's Pub in New York. Dressed as if he came directly from a hard day at a gas station, he took the stage without an introduction and with the house lights up. The audience tittered in confusion -- until he began to perform. He was a revelation, his singing frighteningly fierce, lyrics startling, his playing brutal and delicate. But he told pointless stories between songs, blunting the impact of the performance, though not enough to dissuade me from thinking it was a remarkable show. (You can find examples of Mr. Holcombe's recent solo concerts on YouTube.)

As we drove through the Blue Ridge Mountains and visited the Asheville studio where he recorded "Gamblin' House," I found his hospitality appealing, and his stories about his parents confirmed his fondness for the past. But his cryptic answers to questions often drifted to silence before they concluded; later, I learned he'd recycled some of his replies from earlier interviews. He's quite likely the most guarded musician I've ever spoken with.

Mr. Kennedy said he's known Mr. Holcombe for 15 years and still finds him a puzzle. "Malcolm has some demons that he wrestles with," he told me. "Or they're in his imagination. His mission is to find balance and serenity. Heuses his art to try to salvage himself.

Mr. Holcombe got his start in 1976, playing folk music in an Asheville bar. He moved on to Florida's Gulf Coast and in 1990 took a chance on Nashville. In Music City he tried to fit in, but "I couldn't do it. I couldn't get it," he said. Drinking and drugging drove him off track, but while "flipping burgers and taking out the trash," as he put it, he pulled himself together enough to record a couple of albums and eke out a meager living. Today, he considers hisardscrabble life a form of research. "You can't write about ice cream if you've never tasted it," he said.

The breakthrough was "I Never Heard You Knockin'," the 2005 album he cut when he returned to Weaverville. Backed only by his guitar, Mr. Holcombe growls, yelps and reaches deep into his being. "My mind plays tricks in the silence/I mumble and stutter and wonder in the night," he sings in the title track, adding, "That big ol' front door had steel side to side/I never had a key." In "Mama Told Me So," his narrator contemplates his mother's inevitable passing. "Who's goin' love me when I'm old?" he asks as the song opens. "You're the only one who's ever loved me true and kind/I cover my ears to the pain of you leaving me behind."

"Your mind whips through the past," he said when I asked how he wrote those remarkable songs. "Thoughts of your early childhood are very comforting. You think about Christmas morning or that birthday party, your mom holding your hand. You were protected and safe. Those early memories settle the dust. You were loved and things were OK."

On "Gamblin' House," he hits the bull's-eye when his passion pushes past the prettified music. "Cynthia Margaret" is a lilting tribute to his wife, and You Don't Come See Me Anymore" is a tender tune that brings an on-edge Roger Miller to mind, as does "Baby Likes a Love Song."

In the opening track, "My Ol' Radio," Mr. Holcombe sings: "That big dog gets hungry, he ain't never satisfied. . . . He's gonna eat himself to death and leave nothing for the rest." I thought it was a song about a pet, but Mr. Kennedy told me that it's Mr. Holcombe's take on national politics -- which the producer didn't know until his wife was hired to do illustrations for the CD package. It's a charming little number undermined by lyrics too vague to be enigmatic.

"Malcolm doesn't have a commercial bone in his body," said Mr. Kennedy, who called him a "streetwise hillbilly." "He's into the art of it. You can't tell him to change the way he is. Once he writes a song, he doesn't like to change a single word."

A singular character in an era that prizes conformity in country and pop, Mr. Holcombe may never find a wider audience. But to dismiss him as a backwoods eccentric is to miss the insight and pain that inform his best writing. His songs suggest he's spent countless hours rummaging through his thoughts. He communicates best when he's in the studio and on stage, where he just about explodes.

"I like playing music," Mr. Holcombe told me. We were sitting in a vest-pocket park across from the Sunnyside, talking about Django Reinhardt and Lester Flatt as the afternoon shadows grew long. I asked him if he had a day job to help with the bills.

"I work around the house," he said, "but as far as an income goes, yeah, it'smusic." Then he suddenly added: "The bottom can drop out any time. I can get a job mixing cement for 10 bucks an hour. That's good money."

Mr. Fusilli is the Journal's rock and pop music critic.

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Go Tri Cities - 02.08.08



Go Tri-Cities
February 8, 2008
Holcombe hedging bets on success of ‘Gamblin’ House’
By Jim McGuinness
Album conveys singer’s feelings on war, love, greed

A singer-songwriter’s life is a roll of the dice.

Write the songs you feel in your heart, and then go out and play them in front of total strangers.

Whether people will like you — or even show up to hear you — is anyone’s guess.

The key is to keep returning to the table in hopes of gradually building an audience.

Malcolm Holcombe has been laying his bets for years. One of the most engaging performers on the Americana circuit, Holcombe mesmerizes audiences with his intense stage demeanor and hardscrabble songs about the human condition.

Bobbing back and forth in his chair and twitching his head from side to side, he’s a sight to behold onstage.

While his lyrics are often cryptic, a sense of honesty emerges whenever the gravel-voiced troubadour launches into one of his rustic-sounding ditties.

“I try my best to say what I know to be true in my own point-of-view,” Holcombe said. “I say and sing about what I feel. And if I shoot myself in the foot, at least it’s me pulling the trigger.”

Holcombe does some of his straightest shooting yet on his new “Gamblin’ House” album. Released on the fledgling Echo Mountain label, the disc finds Holcombe croaking out 12 songs that convey his feelings about war, love, greed and humanity.

Songs like “Goodtimes” and “Goin’ Downtown” are filled with the manic energy that has become Holcombe’s trademark, while the bittersweet “You Don’t Come See Me Anymore” and the atmospheric “Blue Flame” (imbued with cello and viola) are shining examples of his peculiar brand of hillbilly poetry.

Holcombe’s songs often deliver a subtle knockout punch, with the back-porch sensibility of the music masking a grumpy streak that often materializes in his lyrics.

An example is the album-opening “My Ol’ Radio” on which producer Ray Kennedy’s wife Siobhan adds background vocals. Easy-going in its arrangement, the song takes some swipes at big media with Holcombe declaring, “I don’t want to be spoon fed/I don’t need to be told/what I listen to on my radio.”

Speaking over the phone from his home in the North Carolina hill country near Asheville, Holcombe points out that the song’s anti-radio lyrics have nothing to do with any lack of airplay on his part.

“That’s not why I’m doing this stuff,” he said. “Any radio play I get is just residuals.”

Musical backing is provided by longtime Holcombe cohorts Ed Snodderly (Dobro, mandolin, mandola, fiddle, banjo) and Jelly Roll Johnson (harmonica) along with a rhythm section of bassist David Roe Rorick and drummer Kenny Malone.

The same foursome appeared on “Wager,” a five-song EP released in October. According to Holcombe, the original intention was for “Wager” to be a full-length album. When the recording went slower than anticipated, it was instead decided to release an EP.

Only one song appears on both projects.

“We got behind the eight-ball, time-wise,” Holcombe explained. “So we put out ‘Wager’ and decided to revisit the album project later. Everything on the EP was cut in the same week.”

The artwork for the album humorously depicts Holcombe’s idea of a “Gamblin’ House.” Drawn by Siobhan Kennedy, it includes a poster in which a big dog is squeezing the neck of a little dog in front of the White House.

In the drawing, the White House is labeled “Gamblin’ House” while the little dog’s dish has Holcombe’s name on it.

“It’s the White House and the whole dog-eat-dog thing that we’ve heard all our lives,” Holcombe explained. “Those people in Washington are gambling with people’s lives.”

Will “Gamblin’ House” help Holcombe reach a larger audience? The singer-songwriter figures if he keeps plugging away, it’s bound to happen.

“If you hang around the barber shop long enough, you’re gonna get clipped,” he said. “But that depends on which barber shop you go to and how much hair you’ve got on your head when you get there.”

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Pasadena Weekly - 02.07.08


Pasadena Weekly
February 7, 2008
by Bliss

MALCOLM HOLCOMBE, Gamblin’ House (Echo Mountain): More deeply talented than his limited renown might suggest, Holcombe’s a growling Southern poet of song original enough to be lauded by national press outlets and songwriters’ songwriters like Lucinda Williams, and eccentric enough to essentially operate in his own zip code. Listeners willing to suspend dependence on linear logic in favor of a gritty stream-of-consciousness style that channels and elicits more visceral emotions will find much to savor in Holcombe’s bluesy/folky melodies and instrumentation, poetic allusions (“That big dog gets hungry he ain’t never satisfied/ Scratchin’ in my ear and howlin’ in my mind”) and throwaway pearls (“I got friends in my wallet/ They love me like a fool”). If “Gamblin’ House” doesn’t quite scale the brilliant heights of 1999’s “A Hundred Lies” (one of the best singer-songwriter releases of the ’90s), it also spends less time trolling through darkness and sparkles with a bit more hope. www.malcolmholcombe.com

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The Daily News In Tune - 02.07.08


Malcolm Holcombe
"Gamblin' House"

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Studio City Sun - February 2008



Studio City Sun
by Bill Bentley
Malcolm Holcombe
Gamblin’ House
(Echo Mountain)

Sixteen years ago Rusty Kershaw released an album called Now & Then on indie label Domino Records, and it sank faster than a soggy bucket of Popeye’s popcorn shrimp tossed into the Mississippi River at the end of Canal Street in New Orleans. Still, it was the kind of music that caused fevers among its fans, and should have spread like encephalitis during mosquito season in the South. Kershaw, the well-weathered brother of Cajun-country star Doug, had a take on life that had to be experienced to be understood. There hasn’t been anyone since even remotely like him—until now. Malcolm Holcombe sings as if he’s been sleeping outdoors a very long time, and battling spiders and snakes from the start. Nature’s wildness is woven into his music, as well as a heart full of love and head crammed with visions. This is dangerous territory, not for the faint-minded, and right about the time it seems like limits have been reached, Holcombe digs down deep and pulls out a song of such longing that t he sunshine slipping into the room keeps us from running for the hills. If Tom Waits and Top Jimmy are chasing each other around your brain like clanging gremlins from an ancient hangover, ask no questions but proceed directly to the checkout line with a copy of Gamblin’ House in hand. Chuck E. will be waiting there happy to help, tap dancing behind the counter and smiling like tomorrow’s promise has thankfully arrived today. What a kick.

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Asheville Citizen-Times - 02.01.08

 

Asheville Citizen-Times
Malcolm Holcombe showcases mountain roots at The Grey Eagle
by Michael Flynn
February 1, 2008

ASHEVILLE — In a region steeped in traditional music, local singer and songwriter Malcolm Holcombe remains a singular voice.

Animated by gravel-strewn vocals and fluid string arrangements, Holcombe’s tales of life in these mountains linger well after the first listen.

“Got my own kind of problems, and my own kind of rules,” he proclaims in the title cut from his new album, “Gamblin’ House.”

Recorded in Asheville at Echo Mountain studios, the album hit stores this week.

To celebrate, Holcombe plays The Grey Eagle on Feb. 1, with Justin Townes Earle opening. The son of Americana icon Steve Earle, Justin Earle’s first full-length national release drops in March.

Holcombe isn’t interested in labeling his home-brewed blend of roots music, which he simply calls folk.

“That’s got the fewest number of syllables,” he said. “That’s who we are — folks.”

The authenticity of Holcombe’s sound has earned him longtime fans, as well as a spot on the three CD, 50-artist “Song of America” compilation released last fall.

The Weaverville native, whose spoken words echo observations in his lyrics, shared some insights recently with take5.

Question: You’re a native of these mountains — how is that reflected in your music?

Answer: I try to relate to things you

can sink your teeth into, and that’s personal experience.

I try to impart not only the five senses that I’m able to grab a hold of, but I try not to get too far off the deep edge as far as writing about my feet on the moon and how it is, because I never been to the moon. If you want to talk about getting a haircut, you’ve got to sit in the barber chair.

Q: What drew you to playing music for a living?

A: No different than anybody else. Mom got me a guitar from Sears, and dad got me a guitar from a pawn shop. I got a Mel Bay chord book and just started noodling around and hanging out with the kids in the neighborhood and listening to records.

Q: What inspires you as a songwriter?

A: Despair, frustration and hope.

Q: You’ve been part of the Asheville-area music scene for years — do you think this town will continue to nurture and attract good musicians?

A: If they keep the gated communities out of here. It’s great to have new businesses and to have fresh blood and stuff like that, but the mountains are being whittled down. And the more they get whittled down, the less inspiration it gives to me.

Q: You’ve done plenty of touring — what do like about playing in Asheville?

A: I get to see some old friends … and I get to see some new friends. I appreciate all the support and love of family and friends right here in my hometown area.

Q: Is the “Gamblin’ House” real or metaphorical?

A: Well, you know, it’s kind of 50-50. You call it “gamblin’ house” and it gives unsavory characters legalese. Any way you want to twist and turn that nickel, it comes up plugged.

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About.com - January 2008


About.com
Malcom Holcombe - Gamblin' House
Rating four out of Five
By Kim Ruehl

Read any review about Malcom Holcombe's music, and you're sure to hear something about rugged, gritty vocals and old soul imagery. I wish I could tell you something other than that, but honestly, that's the best thing about Holcombe's work. His songs are the artistic equivalent of ripping off a bandaid: they kind of sting, but you know jumping into it fully is the best way to heal.
Sad Folk-Blues and Love Songs
Listening to Gamblin' House is like walking through a Georgia woods at night after a rain storm, spotting a light in a window somewhere above the treeline. It's the kind of folk-blues that walks away from you, beckoning you to follow. When he sings, "My baby likes a slow love song," the grit of his voice around those syllables piles on more meaning than the words are capable of pushing across.

The distant fiddle on "Goin' Downtown" is not to be ignored. It may be overshadowed by Holcombe's growl and the swoop and groove of the Dobro, but it's the fiddle that holds down the hoedown. The Dobro gets its day, though, on the title track. It swings in and rips it against a reticent harmonica halfway through the song. This is also where Holcombe's lyrics are some of the strongest on the disc: "I got my own kinda problems / my own kinda rules," he sings. "I got friends in my wallet / they love me like a fool."

Highlights
The best song out of the bag is "You Don't Come See Me Anymore"—a tune that's part Bob Dylan, part Townes Van Zandt, part Greg Brown. You can't get a better amalgam of sounds and comparable songwriters than that, and Holcombe spews the honest, gritty heartbreak like few others. "My catchin' up is runnin' kinda slow / And you don't come see me anymore."

Although there's a pervasive sadness echoing throughout all the songs, Holcombe's odes on his wife, "Cynthia Margaret" and "Baby Likes a Love Song," are two of the sweetest, most heart-felt love laden blues songs I've heard in some time.

If there's a drawback to this CD, it's in the fact that it would be a perfect album if they'd kept it down to 10 tracks. While great songs, "Good Times" and "Blue Flame" aren't as stellar as every other effort on the disc. That's a small criticism, though. In just about any other context, those two tunes would be considered strong. It's only that they're in such superior company, that they don't measure up.

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Harp Magazine - Jan.Feb.08



Harp Magazine
Jan/Feb 2008
CD Reviews
By Andy Tennille

Malcolm Holcombe
Gamblin’ House
Echo Mountain

Most people think Appalachian Mountain music is all swing-your-partner-round-and-round, but bluegrass and country music are only elements of a musical tradition whose roots range from English broadsides to Irish sea shanties to African-American spirituals. Few artists today manage to corral those varied influences into a cohesive vision of modern Appalachian music. Then there’s Malcolm Holcombe, born and raised in Weaverville, the tiny hollow outside Asheville, North Carolina, where he wrote the 12 tracks for Gamblin’ House. Holcombe fuses sweet love songs (“Baby Likes A Love Song,” “Cynthia Margaret”) and back-porch pickers (“I’d Rather Have A Home,” “My Ol’ Radio”) with hillbilly blues (“Goodtimes”) and lonely ballads (“You Don’t Come See Me Anymore”) through a voice that sounds like Tom Waits gargling gravel. It’s an intoxicating blend, but one shouldn’t expect anything less from Catdaddy country.