Caught in the Carousel

Joe Rut

Injured While Faking Own Death
Independent

Joe Rut

Funny songwriters are rare. Profound songwriters are rarer. A profound funny songwriter is a miracle. For his fifth solo album, Injured While Faking Own Death, multi-instrumentalist Joe Rut sings of our inability to know our own hearts with perfect comic timing. When Rut sets you up for the joke and primes you with the rhyme, I defy any listener to predict what the next line will be. His verbal associations are so astonishing, he manages to overshadow the feat that, despite giving credit to nine studio musicians, Rut plays most of the instruments—drums, guitars, bass, mandolin, Hammond organ, lead and harmony vocals—because, as he sings, "I'm a control freak," then yells at his musicians for singing along wrong.

Key to a fun song? Sing-along choruses. I woke up today singing the infectious "Herve Villechaize Blacklight Poster" about a woman's infatuation with the little man on Fantasy Island that becomes poignant then disturbing. Listen and laugh at the human urge to soften cruelty with preliminary kindness, such that kindness makes us suspicious ("Shoot the Mule"). At the core of every laugh-along Rut song is a paradox: What if you manage to turn off your neuroticism, then mourn the loss of your creativity? ("Hamster Wheel Head.") What do you do when you finally nag your girl to become more sober, whereupon she becomes less fun? ("Dosey Doe.") Ever been hurt, get tougher, then miss your sensitivity? ("Perfect Skin.") The sweetest song I heard this year, "Tiny Arrow" is reggae resentment directed at Cupid for the sad fact that dumping someone doesn't cure you of missing them.

The final song "The Horse I Rode In On," ascends to firework heights of brilliance so jaw-dropping it provokes comparisons to—dare I speak the blasphemy?—the young Bob Dylan. In one song, Rut tells a story about a smart-ass beaten to death by Hell's Angels who then ascends to heaven, argues with St. Peter, is put on trial where he tells a back story about theological debates with his priest, stumps Peter with a moral paradox, challenges the concept of free will, gets his case declared a mistrial, wanders limbo, disproves the Pope, attempts to guess the meaning of life on a game show hosted by Siddhartha, is reincarnated as himself, and concludes with some words of faux wisdom from his horse—all in eight minutes. It's a Dantesque epic told in the voice of a cornpone Mark Twain character, and I still haven't told you what's ingenious about it yet: Every single couplet is funny. Has such a feat ever been accomplished in the history of songwriting?

Just before the character is reincarnated he says, "Here's where we learn the price of being what we are," which is the best way to sum up the theme of Rut's record. Being human is painful, paradoxical, and hilarious, and if you ever meet the Buddha, he just might sing like Joe Rut. Listen to this record and laugh, because the joke's on us.

—Joe Quirk