Josh T. Pearson

The first time I heard Josh T. Pearson was in Rough Trade – oh how absolutely cutting edge. But seriously, his second album, released February this year is titled, ‘Last Of The Country Gentlemen’, haunted the trendy 12 inches of the east end store like the ghosts of Lonesome Dove.

The second time Pearson shot into my vision was in the recent Uncut review, featured in March’s issue. This astute and accurately penned album breakdown was an insightful parchment into the warped mind of this shack-dwelling, bearded oddball. And as with all tortured country souls of his weary disposition, he is a troubled genius with a flourishing tale to tell that reaches peaks of alcoholism and depths of the darkest depression, blackened by fear and self-loathing and all these rancid attributes that bestow broken hearts and dying souls.

There was, however, shards of light creeping through the end of the tunnel as Pearson did an ‘Into The Wild’ and sold all his positions and moved into a ramshackle hut in the Texas desert. After a brief stay there he moved to Berlin where he created his latest album and then, illusive as ever, ended up on the banks of Paris where he now resides. Driven by his only hope left and a complete abundance of selflessness, he began to write again, fuelling his own self-mythological image by penning these pensive and apocalyptic country epics.

The aura of downfall and desolation that orbits his newest record sounds like the shadows of Texas themselves, creeping from the run-down homes and broken families and death that lies dormant in these desert towns.

I haven’t had enough time to fully immerse myself in the sorrow of this album, but the song below, ‘Woman, When I’ve Raised Hell’, suggests that anguish and woe may be removed from his own existence, but they certainly live on through the mysterious hells of his song writing.

Josh T. Pearson - Woman, When I've Raised Hell (Alternative Version) by Mute Artists