Music Review: Russell James’ ‘Feel Your Pain’
Native American indie-folk singer songwriter Russell James’ fourth album dives down into struggles with autism, depression, and trauma but also provides space to explore vulnerability, pain, and transcendence.
Feel Your Pain album artwork design by Chelsea Wrightson, 2021.
Rare is the artist who lays himself bare for listeners like Russell James does. Playing music has been a lifelong passion of James, who often says “it’s a compulsion to write and play.” On my first listen of James’ fourth and newly released album, Feel Your Pain, I was struck by its smooth blend of genres and styles into a unique, atmospheric sound—part folk-country, part indie-rock, and part soothing ambience.
Upon multiple listenings, each song moves gracefully through difficult autobiographical emotional territory, as if he’s already done the therapeutic internal work, coming out the other side weathered yet wiser and ready to help others with their own pain through the universal language of music. And yet, while lyrically he wrestles with heavy doses of this pain, the sound never dips below the brighter edge of melancholy, as if he’s determined to not let the darkness pull him down, which I admire immensely.
To achieve this eclectic, contemplative sound that buoys the intensity of the lyrics, Russell James (who plays guitar, keyboard, and harmonica and provides lead vocals) has invited many talented guest musicians to create a steady current of well-rounded Americana, such as Matthew Tobias on drums, Justin McLaughlin on bass, Alex McMahon on pedal steel, Ben Wood on banjo, Meredith Wilder with background vocals, and Gordon Withers on the cello.
Many of James’ songs work their way through autism, trauma, and the absolute fuckery of depression, such as “The Poet,” “Morning Singer,” and “Backseat Driver.” As an artist who understands mental illness all too well, I’m not only drawn to how accurately his descriptions speak to my own experiences, but the pure fact that he boldly lays it out without beating around the bush. I don’t get the sense that he’s necessarily challenging anyone to judge him for any of it; he plainly doesn’t care if they do—he’s far past that shit. Ditto.
Russell James. Photo courtesy of the artist.
“Morning Singer” describes the artistic process of an artist struggling to create with a disability and/or depression, beginning with how excruciating it can be to create when you have to push through lead-like sludge to even get to your actual self first, the very self that needs art to climb out of said sludge:
Only in the morning
Can I find the strength to sing
Before the weight of noise and light
I give my song its wings
Finally I let it go to soar among the trees
Quiet river
Feels like it’s my own
Oh misty waters
In the day’s first light enthroned
And soon,
Hope still glimmers
Makes me shiver
Morning singer
Has come home
“Backseat Driver” offers those very experiences up in an effort to keep both himself and others from drowning in their own minds:
I have a dark companion, whispers in my ear
Only when he is shouting are the only times I can’t hear.
If only I could walk on water
If only I could move this stone
If only I could tell you something
So you won’t feel alone.
Other songs, such as “History of Crime,” explore how “differently” he moves through the world, in ways family members in particular can’t and/or won’t understand:
Still waiting for the apologies to come
I’m still trying to forgive and to move on
I won’t sit where I don’t belong
Then later,
I’ve done my time and now I will move on.
Russell James. Photo credit: John Ellison, 2021.
He revisits his ultimate acceptance of others’ refusal to accept him as he is in the song “A Quiet Life,” which rolls along at a steady clip, not stopping to gauge the reactions of others. Here, he seeks rest, reprieve, and a place—both inward and outward:
On all my roads I’ve never found a thing
There’s nothing here that makes me want to sing
While I know normal is only a season
I don’t think I’ll ever find the reason
My lungs are bleeding sand and dry arroyo
But I think I can get back if I want to
I gasp for air that I could never breathe
I grasp for straws I could never see
I’ve changed a lot since I moved away
A quiet life is what I want today
To take it slow and roll the wheel of change
Change is one thing I want to remain
“I’ll Be Your Man” offers hope that, after everything he’s been through, he won’t pull away from the world so much that he misses the possibility of loving another.
I love the light you stand in
The light that takes you over
So bright the others dampen
Illuminate my lover
In the darkness, you are the light of day
You are shelter, you show the way
In the good times and the bad
Baby, I’ll be your man
After midnight, the promise of the dawn
You are my fire, my reason to go on
A member of the Pamunkey people, a tribe affiliated with the Eastern Algonquins in Virginia, James’ reverence for nature and the physical world fluidly transcends into the spiritual world, though not in an obvious or maybe even deliberate way. Having lived in Oregon and New Mexico (states I just so happen to have lived in myself), this connection to the earth appears to be what keeps him going, what drives his art and his sense of self within it all.
There is much to be troubled about these days within the personal, familial, local, and global communities. Feel Your Pain offers listeners a sense of hope planted within each song—so long as you’re comfortable being uncomfortable, vulnerable, and self-reflective. Because, let’s be honest, the systemic change many of us seek must begin on the inside.
While there are no upcoming shows in the Twin Cities listed on his website, keep an eye out there for news on 2022 shows.
In the meantime, you can also find Russell James on various social media platforms, such as Facebook, Instagram and Twitter. And you can stream and purchase his music on Soundcloud, Spotify, Apple Music and Bandcamp.
Jaclyn Nott. Photo credit: Cody Weber.
The graphic/web designer, webmaster, writer, and editor for the Adventures in Americana project, Jaclyn Nott enjoys a wide range of music—and Americana is just one of many favorites. Her main hustle is grant writing and web design, but her true passion is screen- and creative writing.
