It Looks Like Rain

by Thom Jurek In sonic terms, It Looks Like Rain sounds as far from the studio slickness of the "countrypolitan" machine rock & roll was from Lawrence Welk. In fact, Newbury's sound held more in common with that of Tim Buckley's or Simon & Garfunkel's. But even here, comparisons fail miserably. Aided by co-producers Bob Beckham and guitarist Jerry Kennedy, Newbury created an album so haunting, so elegant, so full of melancholy and mystery, it sounds out of time, out of space. It is a sound that seemingly comes from inside the mind of the listener than from the speakers on the stereo. When the sound of thunder and rain appears at the beginning of "She Even Woke Me Up to Say Goodbye," you are hardly surprised. Newbury's stories are movies; all the settings are in place before the story begins. He can move back and forth in time while changing images to suit the evolving narrative. "San Francisco Mable Joy" is a long tale of dispossession, dislocation, failure, and death, but so poetically beautiful it can't help but be heard, then echoed, deep in the heart of the listener. The thunderstorm is in full flood now, running through each track, from speaker to speaker in one long line, sheets of rain pouring down around the place the singer emotes from. Suddenly a gunshot cuts just loudly enough to jar us from the reverie. At six-minutes-and-forty-three seconds, there is plenty of room for the song's drama to create a tension so mournful it becomes nearly unbearable. And even though you know what's coming as the story winds down, the song's ending is totally devastating. It Looks Like Rain is so fine, so mysterious in its pace, dimension, quark strangeness and charm, it defies any attempt at strict categorization or criticism; a rare work of genius.