I mostly knew Freedy Johnston from “Bad Reputation” and his album This Perfect World, so I came into The Trouble Tree expecting more restrained, introspective songwriting. Instead, it bursts out of the gate with a ragged blend of rock, folk, and country.
There’s a loose, rootsy quality to the music, with rough vocals, unpredictable electric guitars, and rhythms that sometimes sound like they’re about to come apart. But Johnston has a strong ear for melody, and the songs are catchy even when the arrangements get chaotic.
“Innocent” sets the tone beautifully. It opens with acoustic guitar, suggesting an alt-country song, before exploding into a stomping rocker. Johnston’s voice is rawer than I expected, with a distinctly Midwestern quality that suits the music. It has the restless energy of Steve Earle, but the guitars and vocals are loose enough to make the whole thing feel like it could fly off the rails at any moment.
“Down on the Moon #1” keeps that rootsy sound but adds a stronger melodic center. There’s a touch of power pop beneath the rough-edged guitars, making it less chaotic than the opener while keeping the same stomping momentum.
A funky, soulful groove changes the flavor on “No Violins.” Johnston’s forceful vocals keep it from sounding like a straight soul song, and the lyrics find him turning away someone who has come looking for sympathy.
“That’s What You Get” moves toward noisy indie rock, with a choppy rhythm and jagged guitar playing that brings Mark Ribot to mind at his most adventurous. The music feels deliberately unstable, constantly threatening to veer off in another direction.
But the ending shifts gears, slowing into a gentle, country-tinged instrumental passage that’s occasionally interrupted by those rougher edges. It’s a lovely showcase for the guitar playing and an unexpected way to wind down such a restless song.
“Fun Ride” finds another way to mix things up. Its choppy guitar rhythm has a playful, almost reggae-like bounce, filtered through Johnston’s roots-rock sound and conversational storytelling. The song follows a couple trying to make room for some fun amid the complications of everyday life, from household responsibilities to an unreliable car and family tensions. The carnival becomes a reason to get out of the house and enjoy being alive together, even when life isn’t particularly easy.
“Gina” slows things down considerably, stripping the music back to an intimate, acoustic setting. Johnston sounds like he’s sitting across from you, telling a story, with a hint of violin and wordless vocal passages adding to the emotional pull. His raw, unvarnished delivery brings Vic Chesnutt and Daniel Johnston to mind. It’s a vulnerable moment that shows how effective he can be without the noise and ragged energy of the full band.
Of course, the quiet doesn’t last. “Nature Boy” opens with fuzz and feedback before a galloping drum pattern kicks in and the guitar scratches its way into place. The song builds into a loud, fuzzy rocker, with Johnston delivering its strange, increasingly surreal story that cones across like political satire in an almost conversational voice.
“Bad Girl” cleans things up again, settling into a soulful groove with clean guitar, a more controlled vocal, and a couple of fun little guitar solos. It’s an odd combination of humor and self-destruction, wrapped in a very cool vibe.
“After My Shocks” is another chugging, rollicking rocker, with a rhythm that seems to stumble over itself as it moves forward. Its darkly comic lyrics play with the idea of electroconvulsive therapy. It’s an absurd, slightly unsettling subject for such an entertaining rock song.
Johnston returns to acoustic storytelling with “Tucumcari,” sketching a portrait of two worn-down characters making their way through a shabby, sun-baked world. The lyrics are full of vivid, unflattering details, and the song has a dusty, down-at-the-heels quality that brings Bob Dylan, Steve Earle, and Townes Van Zandt to mind.
“Down on the Moon #2” returns to the soulful groove of “No Violins” and “Bad Girl,” but with a jazzier feel. The guitar has an almost lounge-like quality, and Johnston sings in a brighter, higher register. Beneath that cool groove is another portrait of isolation. It’s catchy and laid-back, with a melancholy streak running underneath it.
The album ends with “Little Red-Haired Girl,” a burst of full-band electric guitar that brings Neil Young and Crazy Horse to mind. The melody is there, but the guitars constantly threaten to overwhelm it. The song looks back on a possible missed opportunity with someone the narrator wasn’t quite ready for. The combination of reflection, yearning, and ragged, overdriven guitars makes for a fitting end to an album that never stays in one place for long.
What ties these songs together isn’t a consistent sound so much as a shared interest in people trying to figure out where they stand. Johnston writes about characters who are struggling, remembering better or worse versions of themselves, feeling isolated, or wondering whether they’re ready for the lives they’ve been given.
The Trouble Tree is raw, volatile, and full of surprises, moving between ragged rockers, soulful grooves, noisy guitar experiments, and quieter acoustic moments.
It’s an unpredictable, melodic, and genuinely engaging record that turned out to be quite different from what I expected.
Verdict: Good
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