Jason Molina is just the person I’d like to meet for a fight.
Whether it’s the kind of fight everybody anxiously gathers for after a long day of school, or the variety best played out in dank, dark alleyways, I get the feeling I could take him.
But with Molina standing a mere 5 feet 6 inches tall, that’s probably obvious and besides the point.
What’s got greater relevance, though, is the incredible amount of attention he demands as one of the most talented, prolific and continuously innovative songwriters of the past decade.
If you’re still wondering, “Who the hell is this guy?”, don’t fret. Unlike many of his indie peers who went on to “bigger and better” things, like scoring Honda Civic commercials and cashing in on multi-album contracts with Warner Bros., Molina has chosen his own path.
While that has most certainly hindered his music from reaching a wider audience, it’s definitely kept it pure.
Beginning his career under the moniker Songs: Ohia, Molina signed to then fledgling Secretly Canadian Records. Over the next seven years the pint-sized Ohio native crafted some of the most heartbreaking (“Axxess and Ace” is what love sounds like) and honest sparse indie-rock ever recorded while retaining total creative control.
Since then things have gotten a little more complicated. Molina has dropped the old name, released two albums under his own name and done his fair share of trail blazin’ supporting it all.
Now with his most current incarnation, Magnolia Electric Co., he’s released another four records including this year’s triumphant and alt. country-tinged box set (a staggering 35 new songs) “Sojourner.”
With all of this in mind I made my way to Denton’s Rubber Gloves Rehearsal Studio on Saturday evening in hope of finally gaining some better understanding of the complexity that embodies Jason Molina. What I came out with was something entirely different: hope.
Now, I already know what you’re thinking, “Why’s this wack-job waxing philosophic on the Entertainment page?” and normally I’d wonder why anyone would ascribe this much importance to “just a musician” too. But this isn’t the same in the slightest way.
Seeing Magnolia Electric Co. play live is like experiencing the culmination of everything supposed roots-rock musicians, such as Ford spokesman John Mellencamp, have been trying to do their entire careers.
The difference you get when you’re in the company of Magnolia Electric is that every word, every graceful hum of slide guitar and every country-fried riff is done with absolute sincerity.
Tunes like the lonesome late-night highway anthem “Texas 71” have the sort of resonance and relatable nature reserved for America’s most beloved folk songs.
And that’s exactly why this stuff is so powerful. Molina isn’t peddling someone else’s brand of music around the country while he collects the check, nor is he out there night after night (he tours incessantly) without a purpose.
He’s this generation’s musical “every-man.” It doesn’t matter if the night calls for Molina and crew to belt out lyrics and licks that would make Warren Zevon jealous, or if he’s in the mood for more introspective material (“Hard to Love a Man” gets me every time).
His music speaks with such depth and truth it’s not only destined to become ingrained in the souls of his cult-like fans forever, but to bridge the gap between where the real musicians of yesteryear left off and where minds of tomorrow will take it from here.
Regardless of the fact that the man meets most grown adults at their chests, and despite a lack of major commercial success, I’ll “just be simple” on this one. A tip of the hat to you, Jason Molina. Keep it alive.
