Ray LaMontagne loses the magic touch

I really loved the first two albums by Ray LaMontange: Trouble and Till The Sun Turns Black. Unlike so much that passes for "folk" these days -- someone stroking an acoustic guitar, the kind of stuff you can find in every neighborhood coffee shop and pub in the world -- there was more to LaMontagne, a man who had quit his sneaker factory job in Maine to become a singer/songwriter while in his 30s.

First, the guy has a pretty incredible voice. It's almost hollow and raspy yet big and melodic. Unlike other "folkies," LaMontagne knows how to sing with a certain, for lack of a better term, soul. In early LaMontagne there is an awful lot of the same kind of gutsy singing that made early Van Morrison records -- Astral Weeks, Moondance, Tupelo Honey, etc. so great. You know the singer believes every word.

But a great singing voice is not always enough.  LaMontagne was paired with producer Ethan Johns for his first three records and Johns, who has done great by artists ranging from Ryan Adams (Heartbreaker, Gold)  to Kings of Leon (Youth and Young Manhood, Aha Shake Heartbreak and Because of the Times),  knew how LaMontagne's songs should be recorded. Under Johns' direction, LaMontagne was recorded alone, just guitar and vocals, when it best suited the song (see the remarkable "Burn" from Trouble) or he'd back him with strings when it seemed the right thing to do (The title track on my favorite of LaMontagne's albums, Till the Sun Turns Black). On both albums, the backing was often minimal: drums, bass maybe a bit of extra guitar.

Under Johns' direction, LaMontagne managed to avoid numerous folk and country cliches. You could hear the influences, country, folk and the blues. But LaMontagne didn't fall into a tidy genre. He belonged to a larger tradition of great singers and songwriters. The songs on those records really shine. They represent the best possible performance he could give them. But LaMontagne's "good stuff" started to falter on his third record, 2008's Gossip in the Grain. That record was more of a band record and took on shades that were, at times, uncomfortably country or even (gasp!) jam band-y. The record was good, LaMontagne's songs were nearly as good as before but he was no longer so distinct. Worse, the album didn't hold together thematically or emotionally the way the first two did.

Now with God Willin' & The Creek Don't Rise, LaMontagne seems to have been completely consumed by the morass of folk/rock and adult/contemporary stuff that is the staple of WXPN. From the jam-band-funky opener  "Repo Man" to the banjo backed retro-country of  "Old Before Your Time," LaMontagne treads lots of familiar musical roads. None of them are remarkable. He's the guy you'll hear played during the teary conclusion of a pseudo-hip ABC drama. Like Adams and Kings of Leon, he's not the same without Johns (which makes me respect Johns all the much more). And LaMontagne, who produced this one himself, has no one to blame but himself.

That said, God Willin' is not a bad album. LaMontagne's voice is still as powerful as ever. And his songwriting is no less than what it was. He's not an overrated hack like Jack Johnson. LaMontagne is a talented and, I'll venture, genuine guy. But this time out, he's lost the magic that made those first two records so remarkable -- such individual statements that really stood out from all the other Martin and Taylor slinging warblers. I hope this is just an artistic transition for LaMontagne. He needs to learn that less, for him, really is more. And he needs to give Johns a call.