Trey Johnson

It’d be easy to lump Trey Johnson’s solo work in with his earlier efforts as the frontman for Sorta. That old familiar voice, after all, in all its vulnerable, heartfelt glory, still bounds about—and, with this record coming via Johnson’s name and not Sorta’s, that shining, delightful beacon gets placed even more into the forefront of this disc.

But whereas Johnson’s always been a clever lyricist, unafraid of puns and analogies in his songwriting, his debut solo effort, Mount Pelée, suffers because the wordplay is perhaps a little too clever—and a little too honest. Coupled here with the undeniable talents of producer Don Cento and his band mates in Shibboleth, which serves as the backing band on this album, this former strength of Johnson’s becomes a none-too-subtle weakness. Shibboleth, since its creation, has been beloved for firmly planting its tongue in cheek, but when paired with Johnson’s somewhat hokey sing-speak on tracks like “Lucky When Somebody Loves You,” “The Bragging Type,” and album-closer “The Radio,” which finds Johnson somewhat eye-rollingly bemoaning the lack of airplay his music receives, this pairing pushes the singer into a sad clown-, Randy Newman-esque realm. Which is not a compliment.

Fortunately, though, the pairing has its benefits. Shibboleth provides Johnson a playground Sorta never could: the ability to comfortably and capably pull off seemingly any genre-bending style Johnson wants.

Consider this album experimental, with hints of great promise, more than anything else.