Writing on the Wall by Coco Montoya - Review
Writing on the Wall is a blistering-hot return by long-stay blues virtuoso Coco Montoya, an exhibition of soul-wrenching guitar wizardry and old-school class. Coco invites his tight-knit touring band into the studio for his 11th record, crafting an eclectic and intimate collection of simmering blues cuts, leaving some tracks steaming through the seams with veteran restraint, while the others explode with a masterful torrent of musicianship. The final assemblage of material boasts ten original tracks, five of which were co-written by Coco himself, and three expertly covered classics injected with the singular force of Coco’s fiery delivery— a formidable and definitive addition to the bluesman’s already acclaimed catalog.
Ushered in on a burst of Coco’s yearning throat-punch roar, track one, “I Was Wrong,” erupts with a slew of fiery guitar licks, summoned at will with classic call-and-response prowess. The band quickly releases tension, unfolding into a gentle slide of bluesy keys, red hot strings, and a clattering hi-hat, all the while Coco’s guitar echoes the pleas of his refrain. The resonant power of the bluesman’s inherited icy-hot burn and expressive finesse, characteristic of his tutelage under the legendary Albert Collins, packs each note with boundless emotion— a captivating power that translates into the following songs. Of which, Track two, “Save It For The Next Fool,” is an early album highlight and a masterclass in subtlety, Coco utilizing his wizened understanding of space and patience to poke holes through the chorus’ mellow glide with deft and expressive harmonics.
Writing on the Wall arrives at its climatic epicenter with “Stop,” a sprawling slow-blues rework of Lonnie Mack’s 1985 track. Coco and his band fire on all cylinders, locked into a synergistic and impassioned groove. Each note has a time and place, and each bent guitar harmonic or twinkling of keys sends jolts of cathartic expression through the track. Coco provides his richest vocal performance of the record, building and dissolving alongside the instrumental with a profound conviction as if he had written the words himself. As the song fades out, it becomes obvious that “Stop” is the definitive Coco Montoya track from “Writing on the Wall,” a celebratory concoction of his energy and passion, old-school affinity, musical intelligence, and his instrumental prowess.
The subsequent three cuts display Coco on a victory run through the tracklist. The record’s title track, “Writing on the Wall,” is a raucous, bluesy honky-tonk anthem embellished with jazzy keys, twangy strings, and an infectiously bouncing bass line. “Late Last Night” is a rough-and-tumble bar crawl extravaganza equipped with a fiery, inebriated pulse, whereas late-album highlight “What Did I Say” shows Coco and his band once again flexing their enormous ballad chops— this time with an original.
Coco appears virtually unstoppable before stumbling into the final four tracks of Writing on the Wall; besides “The Three Kings And Me” and its soul-filled sway, the record’s finale is comprised mostly of the prominently underwhelming and unremarkable cuts. “A Chip And A Chair” is a country-blues rocker that remains unsatisfyingly stagnant, and “Natural Born Love Machine” is a harmless yet nonetheless superfluous track that steals outro privileges from the much superior and more potent “The Three Kings And Me.” Track 11, “Baby, You’re A Drag” is perhaps the dullest cut of the crop, telling a rather obtuse tale over an uncharacteristically coarse and unimaginative instrumental.
Despite the mildly unsavory string of songs to close his 11th effort out, Coco’s ability to cultivate an impressively high standard of quality for the majority of Writing On The Wall largely vindicates any of the late-album misfires. With such a record, Coco continues to indulge in his time within the upper echelon of modern blues performers, crafting a fervent and searing sound that stands out entirely in the world of blues, and time and time again, is entirely kick-ass.
Rating: 7.6/10
Writer: Brett Brose