Gillian Welch and David Rawlings: The Harrow and the Harvest

Gillian Welch has a bit of Emmeline Grangerford in her—you know, the somber teenage girl from Huckleberry Finn who hurries off to scribble a morbid ode anytime anyone dies. Early in her career, Welch’s image was as studiously dour and retro as her songs and music were, full of soldier’s joy and orphan girls. On her more recent albums, she has deigned to notice the 20th century, even dallying with a trap set on 2003’s Soul Journey, her last studio recording. There are still hints of Emmeline on the new The Harrow and the Harvest, from that title on down to references to “beefsteak” and a “childhood [spent] walking the wildwood/ down along the Dixie line.” But the new disc nonetheless continues her rapprochement with being a present-day artist, and often in most appealing ways. Really.

The Harrow and the Harvest’s success is rooted in Welch’s retrenchment to the basics of twinned acoustic instruments and harmony vocals with co-billed musical/life partner David Rawlings. Whatever she’s singing about, it sounds best in that durable, flexible, daresay soulful setting. And some of her tunes shed at least part of their throwback vibe. The lulling “Dark Turn of Mind” turns the clear and simple virtues of classic country/folk songwriting into an ode to women of the title mind-set, who could always use more good songs (the beguiling melody of “Tennessee,” a few cuts later, is another). On “The Way It Goes,” on the other hand, Welch turns sardonic, unspooling a cornpone “People Who Died” and cracking that one woman who flew too high wound up “busted, broke, and flat/ Had to sell that pussy cat.” Gillian Welch makes a pussy joke! Elsewhere, she splits the difference between vintage forms and a more contemporary approach, leading to songs like “Silver Dagger,” which blur eras, as well as songs like the handclap-driven “Six White Horses,” which transcend them.

The truth is, such are Welch’s gifts as a singer and songwriter that she can get away with a lot, even among those resistant to po-faced hillbilly romanticism. Taken line by line, “Hard Times” sounds like some sort of stab at a Great Depression ballad. But when she steps up to the soaring chorus of “hard times ain’t gonna rule my mind,” these days it’s hard not to wanna sing along.

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