It brings me great pleasure to once again introduce an artist to the pages of Blogcritics (see earlier posts re: James McMurtry). This time, it's Peter Mulvey, an exceptionally gifted songwriter and folk guitarist.

I came upon Mulvey's music through a National Public Radio interview on "Weekend Edition." At the time, Mulvey was promoting his cover project, "Ten Thousand Mornings," recorded in the Boston subway. From there, monthly trips to his web site loaded me up with a good number of free mp3 downloads. Currently, you can download the single "Shirt" from "Kitchen Radio."

Mulvey's music was immediately captivating. His sound is pure guitar, including alternate tunings (a la Ani DiFranco). This follow-up "Kitchen Radio" puts Mulvey back in the songwriting seat, and he returns with a strong effort.

"Road to Mallow" begins the album, introducing Mulvey's baritone voice and finger-picking guitar.

"Six rabbits, two dogs, one cat, one cow, and then we saw something coulda been a fox, come to think of it now, on the road to Mallow."

Mulvey's pastiche of imagery puts you in a serene landscape, with metaphysical imagery swirling like a zen cappuccino.

"Shirt," the second tune, features a more up-tempo style, and reminded me of Leo Kottke. The lyrics contradict the music, with a sense of melancholy at life that doesn't change, symbolized by a corduroy shirt.

Mulvey doesn't shy away from the political, evinced by "29 cent head." The song is paced like a Bob Dylan activist tune.

"Them shapes in the bed are the senator and the ceo. Which one's on top, I wouldn't like to know. The father's got his hand on the alter boy's knee. The whole choir's preaching to you, they just want you to agree."

But Mulvey doesn't provide answers, only observations. And that is the true genius of this songwriter. His observations.

Nowhere is this more obvious than the haunting "Rise," a song Mulvey treated listeners of NPR to long ago. Only the outlines of a story are presented: a man and woman walking in the market square, when something horrible happens.

"You tugged my sleeve, so I slowed down
I smiled at how you love this place
how all these things fill your eyes
and as I bent to kiss your face
You turned to me and seemed to rise
And it was then, I saw the light
and felt the air go rushing past
these things are fixed
now in my sight.
your face, the fire, the flying glass."

You wonder, "what is the fire?" "Why the glass?" "why is there a rush of air?" But most of all, you feel the loss with the protagonist.

The album closes with a rocking tune with an irish progression (think the Pogues, only not as drunk) with the unlikely title "Sad, Sad, Sad, Sad (and far away from home)." Listen to a realmedia clip here.

Again, classic imagery:
Kenny's still stuck in a doctorow book, the one place you can never escape, and your voice on the phone is like one of those paintings where everything loses its shape. And a girl across the street, she's as light on her feet, as sunlight bouncing off coal."

All in all, a very satisfying album, and one that can easily fill a lazy Saturday afternoon sitting on the porch with a glass of sweet tea.