Guy Clark’s latest album comprises eleven songs, the majority collaborations between the Texan and a raft of songwriter friends. The exceptions are Townes Van Zandt’s fine ‘No Lonesome Tune’ and the traditional ‘Diamond Joe’, which closes the album.
The originals are all superbly-crafted: it's a tribute to Clark’s status that we expect no less from one of the genuine country masters. ‘Analog Girl’ has all the quirky humour of John Prine and pays handsome tribute to a woman who has eschewed all the benefits of new technology. The elegant ‘Walkin’ Man’ nods towards the heroic figures of Woody Guthrie, Chuck Berry and Gandhi, hinting at the underlying blue collar sympathies of Clark and his compadres.
‘Out In The Parking Lot’ is a beautiful song that sounds like it could have been penned by Kris Kristofferson and uses the parking lot as a metaphor for life: “I love to see the neon dancin’ on the gravel/I love to hear the pickup trucks come unravelled/Some have given up, some have given in/Looks like everybody’s looking for a friend/Out in the parking lot.”
The wistful ‘Magdalene’ has a shapely tune to match its sepia-toned mood. If there’s a criticism, it’s that it’s all very polite and restrained, and mostly acoustic. Only 'Tornado Time In Texas’ and the sprightly old-time country style ‘Expose’, written with Rodney Crowell and Hank de Vito – and replete with evocative fiddle-playing from Shawn Camp – move up into a higher gear.
But the playing throughout is exemplary. ‘Cinco de Mayo In Memphis’ stirs a stew of Mexican-tinged blues, with echoes of Dylan’s ‘Desolation Row’ here and there. Verlon Thompson, meanwhile, tosses off stirring mandolin riffs on ‘Diamond Joe’.
Throughout Workbench Songs you get the sense of being in the hands of real craftsmen, musicians who have an unerring instinct for creating the right mood. But, overall, a little more risk-taking might have been required to make a great record of it.