T Bone Burnett is not a household name. And yet, paradoxically, millions of people purchased a record he made.
If you were to draw a timeline of alt-country milestones, Burnett's name would appear on it, right there with entries for Gram Parsons, the Knitters, and Johnny Cash. Why would Burnett—who plays Sunday, June 11, at the Moore Theatre—merit inclusion? Because he produced the 2000 soundtrack of O Brother, Where Art Thou?, which not only won an Album of the Year Grammy, but went number one on the pop charts, revealing that contemporary America's thirst for traditional music ran deeper than most folks ever imagined.
These days, Burnett is best known for his work in film, overseeing movie soundtracks such as Cold Mountain and Walk the Line. What many people don't realize is that, for 30 years, Burnett has also been making records under his own name. Hopefully, the recent release of two discs—the two-CD anthology Twenty Twenty: The Essential T Bone Burnett and The True False Identity—will correct that oversight.
The former encompasses 40 songs recorded between 1976 and 1992, a period when Burnett was an active member of the same fraternity that includes Elvis Costello, John Hiatt, Nick Lowe, and Dave Edmunds. The compilation features a pretty star-studded roster of its own (Ringo Starr, Pete Townshend), but what impresses is Burnett's ability to move through myriad styles while maintaining his distinctive voice. His 1982 take on the Gentlemen Prefer Blondes standard "Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend" sounds more like "Jack and Diane" than Marilyn Monroe, while "Image," from the 1988 LP The Talking Animals, boasts wheezing squeezebox and cascading strings (arranged by Van Dyke Parks) straight out of a Kurt Weill cabaret.
So where has Burnett been all this time, besides Hollywood sound lots and remote Appalachian locations? Why have fans had to wait 14 years for his new album proper? Simple: He lost the impetus to record his own songs. "The road had become too difficult," he recently observed, apropos of his attitude after 1992's The Criminal Under My Own Hat. "It all seemed pointless, so I decided to explore some other things that were coming my way. I needed freedom. I needed time to find another way into playing music again."
From the sound of the new 12-track set—divided into two halves, "Art of the State" and "Poems of the Evening"—it was time well invested. The opening "Zombieland" is a dance macabre of clatter-trap percussion and streaks of bluesy guitar, while the descending chords of "There Would Be Hell to Pay" buoy up a surprisingly cheery murder ballad. "Fear County," with its restless walking bass, is aural film noir; "Hollywood Mecca of the Movies" outlines a vision of Tinseltown as subtle yet unsettling as a charcoal-sketch Wanted poster. The True False Identity may not top the charts, but here's hoping Burnett's accomplishments of late will ensure it sells well enough to discourage him from taking another protracted sabbatical from making his own albums.
