Hear/Say
Bill Janovitz: Up Here
spinART
As the wordsmith and voice of quintessential '90s college-type alternative rock 'n' rollers Buffalo Tom, Bill Janovitz always sported an eager and notably poetic heart on his sleeve. Underneath the collegiate anthems that Buffalo Tom had turned into a science, Janovitz always found a way to serve up some of the more sturdy, sensible and warming-yet-bruised vocals during a decade that was otherwise devoid of such semi-hidden sensitivity. Up Here, Janovitz's second solo outing, eschews the pomp of Buffalo Tom's rock for a more fashionable acoustic canvas and ultimately finds Janovitz casting about for the true strengths of his work. The quiet, sparse arrangements here graciously detour from the mistaken country jazziness of his first solo work (1996's Lonesome Billy) and sound so frail at times that there seems to be a real danger that any and every song here could cave in on the others at any time.

Yet Janovitz's tender gravel voice, replete with terrific Elvis Costello-ian phrasing, fierce Steve Earle angst (the stellar "Minneapolis" is a spot-on Earle homage) and an earnest solemnity, pours out hypnotically across these eleven cuts. Up Here also dodges the typical troubadour's acoustic-guitar-only curse (the oft-misguided sense by rock 'n' rollers that they have a batch of songs that are sturdy enough for spare treatments) by fleshing out each song with fine touches of piano ("Best Kept Secret," "Half a Heart"), oddball organ ("Up Here"), background vocals and other assorted twists.

Ultimately Janovitz scores well on Up Here because he mainly sticks to the things that fed his Buffalo Tom success: neo-romantic songwriting framed by his distinct and memorable voice. On Up Here, Janovitz hits the rock-roll crooner role at every turn, and in the end sounds like he may just be inching toward being the closest thing to an American Elvis Costello that we have these days.
By Kurt Hernon
September 2001