Welcome to Lyric Shrink, an album review series with a psychological slant. I am Ryan McCann, a licensed independent mental health professional, audiophile, and volunteer sound tech. So take a seat on the couch, relax, and let’s see what our latest client has to say.
This is Chains & Stakes by The Dead South.
After some time away from the therapist’s office, I’m back to break down the meanings of the lyrics and sounds in the music that matters to me. I’ve recently been listening to The Dead South, specifically their latest album, Chains & Stakes. I found them after seeing a video of their performance at the Ryman Auditorium popped up on Instagram Reels. Hailing from Regina, Saskatchewan, their style and sound caught my attention, but if you are unfamiliar with the band, you’ll likely find them a little difficult to pin down.
Not quite bluegrass, country, or southern rock, The Dead South fall somewhere between genres. It’s the kind of music that took me multiple listens to wrap my head around. I eventually gained an appreciation for the creative contrasts at play, as each song seemed to shift in tone, tempo, and style. Unlike a hard rock act, you’re not getting the song-to-song consistency of chugging bass and over-driven guitars with anthemic vocals.
The album opens with “Blood On The Mind.”
The lyrics tell a cautionary tale right out of the Old West, right down to the a hint of flamenco guitar. Nate Hill’s lead vocal belts out warnings of bad weather and possible foul play that could silence a music man one night. The bubbly strings of the banjo strummed by Colton Crawford balance out the song.
The next track, “Yours To Keep,” features the titular lyrics, “Bright away the chains and stakes and fall down for the night.” Filled with Biblical and Masonic references, the song suggests Nate is singing about someone keeping a secret they alone are burdened with until a brighter day comes to free them from their chains. This track is sparse, driven mostly acoustic guitar and voice. The doubled lead vocals in the chorus and haunting oohs from the backing singers play nicely off the sorrowful tone of the previous tune.
It also set us up for a big shift with “20 Mile Jump,” which is fully-leaded bluegrass from The Dead South. Nate’s twang, Crawford’s banjo, and Danny Kenyon’s bass work rip through this minute-and-thirty-seven-second song.This toe-tapping sucker punch is no doubt jarring after the more reserved nature of the first two numbers.
“Where Has The Time Gone” is a simple interlude reminiscent of the sounds in “Yours to Keep.”
It acts as a bridge to the next set of songs: “Little Devil” “Son of Ambrose” and “Clemency.” This trio serves as the strongest titles on the album. “Little Devil” especially sounds like a full-throated shout of all the talents in the band. The bass drives, the vocals are dynamic, and the mandolin and banjo playing are top-notch. The track shifts tempo effortlessly using a moment of silence at one point to draw you in close before resuming the resounding chorus.
“Son of Ambrose” is another bluegrass-steeped track featuring a great shuffle pattern on banjo. The lyrics share a family history while demonstrating the band’s own musical roots. The Dead South treat us to another instrumental interlude as “Clemency” sets up another batch of genre-hopping tunes.
“Completely, Sweetly” features gang vocals punctuated by the thump of a bass drum and banjos.
It ends with an Elvis hound-dog growl and shout line, reflecting more vocal diversity from the lead singer. “A Place I Hardly Know” features crooning lead vocals that give off a Sinatra vibe (or at least a lounge singer’s version of Sinatra). The light-hearted antics continue with “The Cured Contessa.” The lyrics are all tongue-in-cheek, and the music is equally whimsical. Together, those songs feel like the comedy relief in a tense drama, especially as they lead into the heavier tone and message of the next section.
With “Tiny Wooden Box,” the bending of notes on the banjo and mandolin match the lamenting vocalizations of our singer looking back on life after loss. After another brief instrumental “Yore,” we arrive at “Father John,” capping this album of contrasting tunes with the story of an anti-hero who did bad things for righteous reasons. Father John is not as black-and-white as the cover art suggests. He is principled and God-fearing, but he also takes the law into his own hands.
Depending on your view of vigilante justice, you may not see Father John as any type of hero.
However, the clean tone of the cello and bassy vocals give the song and the figure of Father John significant weight. The complexity of this character reflects the complexity of this album. If you simply read the headline “Vigilante Slays Crew of Criminals,” you might write him off as a criminal himself. However, if you spent the time to get to know him, his reasons, and the full story you might find a growing appreciation for the complicated man.
In a day and age where 30-second snippets of songs drive the charts from TikTok views, The Dead South give us album that holds your attention. Chains and Stakes is like sipping whiskey: Don’t guzzle it down, but take it slow and neat, maybe on the rocks.