I thought Greatest Hits was going to be one of those numbers where I have to skim through a few cutz to get to the meat of the matter. Couldn’t have been further from the truth; John Wesley Coleman sinks his hooks in you from track one, his odd, surreal sense of delivery driving a wide variety of songs (with a rustic, post-Calexico sheen that mostly shows up on the slower numbers, to boot) that seem more showcases of his personality than a practice in retreading indie-whatever themes and riffs. I love JWC for that. He’s off his rocker in a Zach Galifianakis kinda way (OK that’s just based on appearance, mostly), yet his songs can evoke anything from joy to wonder to intrigue to confusion to dark, dark places you don’t tell but your closest friends about. That’s how the last cut on Side A hits me, at least. Also: Red Red Meat, remember them? Love it, blues is dead, where to next? Side B has more spring in its step, care of tracks like “Miranda” (a cut my ear instantly warmed to, unlike a few of these, which take a second to grab you then never let go), a loopy love-grubber, and “Lawnmower Man,” an acoustic track that, while not uptempo, carries with it a momentum that will sweep you away, and FAST. Such a great way to end a quality album, with an intimate number that reveals perhaps more than any track that preceded it. You’ll want to learn to cover this song yourself, only to realize it ain’t the cakewalk you expected. Dude’s voice is right in the pocket, unblinking and all-knowing. The Walkmen ended several of their albums that way, walking through the snow, alone with the guitar, silent steps, private thoughts, truthful ruminations… If that doesn’t justify Greatest Hits’ lofty title, I don’t know what will. John Wesley Coleman IS the Lawnmower Man, believe that, fool.
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