I was first introduced to the music of Royal City about a year ago, by my buddies Eric and Doug. Apparently the Toronto-based band had ambled into their hometown of Carrboro, NC, to play a show, but for whatever reason it was canceled. My friends, never ones to let good music pass them by, set upan impromptu gig and Royal City played to their hearts' content for a small audience on Eric and Doug's front porch. Unfortunately, I missed that particular event, but one night in Eric and Doug's living room, they played At Rush Hour The Cars for a few of us -- who, like them, were instantly enamored.

Like that first introduction, Alone At The Microphone hits a certain chord with listeners. Royal City's music evokes thoughts of Neil Young and Palace, and every so often the spirit of Woody Guthrie also makes an appearance. That's not to say that Royal City would need to rely on similarities to admired musicians of the present (or past) -- they have their own very distinct sound.

You can't help but be completely into Alone At The Microphone from the moment the first chord of "Bad Luck" -- a head-nodding piece of bluesy roots music -- is struck. From there, the group delves into banjo-laced folk (see the Guthrie-like "Under A Hollow Tree"), harmonica driven tunes ("My Brother Is The Meatman") and the appropriately melodic ("Spacy Basement"). Lyrically, there's enough darkness and melancholy to glean a year's worth of sorrow from, but in the context of its everyman-style matter-of-factness, the music brings feelings of camaraderie in bad times rather than plain old depression. On "Don't You", the line "and don't you ever be what they want you to be" betrays an understanding of people's inherent coldness, and perhaps an encouragement for us to be strong in rougher times. On "Daisies", with its rough harmonies, simple banjo work and beautiful harmonica solo, Royal City does with a down-home, sing-along type of song what a lot of other bands fail to do: they keep it simple. I've heard this sort of fare given way too much production and perfection, and in most instances, the song's prized "genuine" feel is lost; thankfully, that's not the case here. On "Blood And Faeces", perhaps the album's most spartan track, there's a strong S.G. Swain resemblance (especially in the soft, tentative vocals) that works incredibly well, adding even more balance to the album's folk vibe.

This is the sort of music that's played every night on the dimly-lit porches of the small towns that surround the area where I live. It's the kind of music that's best when it isn't forced (to Royal City's credit, they never run into that problem); it comes naturally when people are sitting around with guitars and banjos in hand. If you're lucky enough to have Royal City play on your porch, and your crazy, drunk, eighty-year-old Uncle Roy comes with harmonica in hand to crash the party, you can be assured that not only will these Canadians let the old guy sit in with them, but they'll probably enjoy it.