I had heard the CD described as gospel for the unbeliever. After listening over and again and again, I disagree. Fred Eaglesmith believes in something, but, in his own words: Fancy God That God you got is a fancy God And he’s not the one I know He don’t live in parking lots Outside of monster homes My God ain’t in the government He don’t put on a big show That God you got is a fancy God And he’s not the one I know My God lives on gravel roads And goes down into hollers Goes down and saves the souls Of your very sons and daughters Your crystal meth And your cocaine breathe And your tingling to your toes That God you got is a fancy God And he’s not the one I know Fred has gone through major changes recently. Last year his right hand man and long time band mate, Willie P. Bennett suffered a heart attack. Then early this year, Willie died. I don’t know how much of the changes in Fred’s music can be attributed to his friend’s passing, but to be sure, Tinderbox is a departure from the sound and style I am accustomed to hearing from Fred. Spare, primitive sounds dominate songs with the beat and rhythm you’d expect from old negro spirituals sung out in the fields, perhaps set to the pace of a hoe clawing at the ground. Gospel themes dominate, but Fred’s version of gospel is more like that Jesus offered—that of someone reared in the real world, not the words of some priest or preacher—part of the accepted establishment. Fred sings of a dark, forbidding world, a world that is killing him, day by day. He cries for rain, for mercy, for justice, a farmer on bended knee in a worked up field, a soldier back from war, a desperate outlaw, someone’s crying from the very back row in a failing church; the world’s about to end and everyone knows. He prays, and prays and prays. Yet evil men sit in high places and prey on those below. Once again, Fred’s own words: You Can’t Trust Them Well out on the corner Of third and green They’re dealing prescription Amphetamines And you count your fingers When you shake their hand Cause they steal your wealth As fast as they can (Chorus) You can’t trust em Their souls are lost They keep taking Jesus Back off of the cross Lightning won’t strike em And the cops won’t bust em And all I know All I know Is you can’t trust em And their ivory towers They swing and they sway As they count up the hours Until you can’t pay And your worth is figured And your presence is rated And all of their interest Is calculated (Chorus) Bells softly ring Beneath their steeple They’re selling souls And they’re dealing people And the choirs sing The coyotes laugh And quietly they take Everything you have (Chorus) Tinderbox is an exceptional CD - the best I’ve heard from Mr. Eaglesmith and crew in a long time. And that my friends, is saying something.