Basement Dreams
This review is part of a series in which I review Neal’s solo records one by one chronologically, and chat with various friends and bandmates who were part of the making of each record.
A collection of recordings made between 1996-1998 at Neal’s home studio in New Jersey, 1998’s Glitterhouse release Basement Dreams was named Americana Album of the Year by Mojo Magazine. As always, paired with Ginty’s glittering keys and Angie McKenna’s angelic harmonies, this album is a lot to digest – 23 tracks Neal recorded and engineered himself on an 8-track recorder, and 10 live tracks on the accompanying disc.
Many of the songs meditate on darker themes, and unlike a lot of Neal’s other work, I think that there’s less disguising heavy content with cheery melodies. Basement Dreams is probably one of the most straightforward records in that sense. This album is sort of the final culmination of this phase of Neal’s solo career – it’s the most himself of records made while he was still living in New Jersey.
To give some reprieve between some of the weightier songs, there is a lot of playfulness – less-than-a-minute-long clips of Ginty noodlings, “Kid on Trumpet,” vocal accompanist Amy Allison asking for a kazoo solo, Neal’s dad singing his standards; but in between there are some serious songs that are horribly underrated.
Musically, the record sounds like a tribute to the folk sounds Neal loved. Much of the album sounds like an ode to the 69-71-era Byrds, with Neal frequently affecting a more nasally, lax vocal inflection that mimics an early Gram Parsons-kind of intonation, as heard on the title track, the blues-y “I Run and Hide,” and “Nothing Left to Prove.” Perhaps this affectation allowed the songs to speak for themselves. At the same time, the originals are completely unique and his own.
Further proof of the Byrds love on this record: a version of “Oil In My Lamp,” an old gospel song attributed to Gene Parsons and Clarence White in the liner notes (Neal and Angie’s version is so much better), as well as a cover of “Widowmaker,” originally recorded by Jimmy Martin but also covered by Gram Parsons.
There’s also “Denver Song,” a tribute to John Denver, and of course the ode to Townes Van Zandt, “Highway Butterfly.” His voice’s warmer, sincere tones return alongside gorgeous understated acoustic tones on “No One Said A Word,” “Fremont Row,” and “St. Cloud,” all classic Casal. “Outskirts” is kind of a resigned-sounding love song, although I’m not certain if it always sounded that way or if just does now. The harmonies with McKenna reach their peak with the staggeringly beautiful “Promises to Keep.”
The second disc is full of gems as well, with the painfully beautiful “Alive at the Same Time,” (which is my favorite song on the album) and “Saint James City” embodying the “fuzz folk” sound the studio was named for, alongside some live versions recorded at Neal’s solo shows around the UK after releasing Field Recordings.
Joe Wilkinson played guitar on Basement Dreams, then joined the Neal Casal Band for two long tours in Europe. John met Neal through John Ginty who played in his NYC-based band the Bleeding Hearts. After attending a few of each other’s shows, Neal began sitting in with the Hearts, playing shows around the city. If you can find some videos of those shows on YouTube, you’ll see a guy playing guitar who looks like he could be Neal’s brother. That’s Joe.
I asked him to share some memories about how he got connected with Neal and what touring was like.
I pretty much walked into being a part of the Neal Casal Band – right place at the right time, really.
We went to Europe in ’98 as a band, and we were over there for two or three months. That was my introduction to Neal, his music. It was really all through John, but I got tight with Neal because he was playing in my band at the time, and it was really a loose thing. I didn’t have a record deal or anything. We were just jamming all around the city and having a good time.
Then he made Basement Dreams, and then he did Anytime Tomorrow. That was the last tour that I did with Neal. We went over to Europe in 2000 and promoted that album.
I only had one day in the studio with Neal and it was for the song “Outskirts” off of Basement Dreams. John Ginty was his right-hand man. John was on Fade Away and then all his other albums. We all loved the same kind of music.
I really loved the songs, so I really just wanted to support him and his music, not even really knowing what was going on behind the scenes. I just thought John was cool, he was cool, and he invited me to play. I just enjoyed the music, first and foremost. There are a lot of live bootlegs of a lot of those ’98 shows and the 2000 tour in Europe. We ended a tour at the Orange Blossom Special Festival that Glitterhouse put on in ’98. We were all in really high spirits and the band was so tight.
I had a lot of great memories of that time. With not really knowing Neal all that well, I just was down for the cause. I really admired him because he was writing so many songs, and that’s what I was kind of trying to do. I was so green.
It inspired me to want to become a better singer, because that’s not something that really came naturally for me. It took me a long time and a lot more songs that I’ve written and sing on that I started to develop my own voice. But I attribute that to listening to Neal on those tours, because I was like, “Okay, this is how you do it. This is how you take care of your voice when you’re on the road. This is how you sing notes and embellish notes, and how you project.”
He has no idea. I hadn’t talked to him in years. I never got the chance to tell him how much that really meant to me because I took a big part of that. That was a big lesson to me, and I’m forever grateful for that. He was a great singer. Just an angelic, beautiful voice. Back then his range was unbelievable, too.
I will tell you a story of how much of a trooper Neal on the road was. We were playing at The Borderline in London in 2000. We didn’t have a crew, but I understood that Neal needed to do his thing. I would pack up the gear a lot for him when he went and greeted his fans, and whatever else he had to do, and I just said, “Hey, man, no sweat. Do your thing.”
He was in his hotel room before a gig, and somehow he sliced his finger on his left hand. He cut it wide open, man. I didn’t realize how bad it was until our show was over, because his guitar was completely full of blood. I don’t know many people who could have pulled that off. Our shows back then were over two hours. There was no warmup band. Sometimes, especially when we played in London, we would do two or three encores, and he would come out and do a couple of acoustic numbers. Then he would bring the band back up and we’d take it out electric. We’d usually close with “Dandelion Wine” or a Stones tune.
That was one moment that I was kind of like, “Wow, that must have been a painful gig.” But he was just down for the mission. He wasn’t going to let it stop him. That was another one of those, “That’s how you do it” moments for me. It was a great show, and we had such a great response. But man, he bled all over that freaking guitar. And of course that night he had to go do his thing, so I had to pack it all up. He left a mess for me. Joe laughs.
Most of our shows, most of the gigs all we did was laugh. We had such great, fun times. We were all just having fun. Also, I cannot tell you how many times people came up to me from behind and said, “Hey, Neal.” And I turned around and they’d be like, “Oh, you’re not Neal.” And the same thing happened to him. I know it pissed him off more than it did me. Laughter again.
And I miss the hell out of him, man.
Joe Wilkinson, September 2020
Joe plays with the Cosmic American Derelicts, who recored an album with Terry Reid that may be out next year. He’s also planning on recording a song he wrote for Neal at Jim Scott’s studio. He has a lot of years of music inside of him to get out, so stay tuned.
