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Sep 29, 2025 Web Exclusive By Kyle Mullin

Cass McCombs can’t help himself. At least much of the time. Even when the California bred singer/songwriter—known for his psych-folk chops and winking wit—is shredding through yet another sumptuous guitar solo on his recently released 13th solo album, Interior Live Oak, he begins to yodel. That curveball occurs on “A Girl Named Dogie,” whose catchy folk rock rhythms would’ve otherwise fit snugly anywhere on the FM dial over the past four or five decades. The quirky yodel is his latest way to jolt and challenge casual listeners, and thrill the more discerning.

That he is so well versed in genre conventions, and so gleefully sly when subverting them, is indeed the inherent joy of any Cass McCombs LP. In the past he’s certainly done so lyrically and with his song titles (this is the guy who wrote “Medusa’s Outhouse” and “Rancid Girl,” after all). But his musical shakeups on Interior Live Oak are just as artistically impressive. It also makes for a frequently funny and engrossingly unpredictable 16 track, hour and change LP.

All that is apparent from opener “Priestess.” Its flaring guitar solo has both gravitas and sounds cinematic. McCombs then assuredly sets a scene that, in a lesser lyricist and singer’s hands, would sound absurd. His protagonist: a sodajerk at an old timey cafe. His ingénue: none other than Ella Fitzgerald. The cast of characters is rounded out by a rogue’s gallery of Black Panthers. And over “lime rickeys and tuna fish” they shared “very little worries.” It sounds nostalgic, but also eerie because of the unexpected era it delves into and its odd, context-free specificity.

As endearingly out of nowhere as“Priestess” feels, especially upon first listen, its eccentricities beautifully unfurl, slowly absorbing you in surrealism. Similarly, it’ll take you a bit to realize the melancholy piano abounding “I Never Dream About Trains” amounts to the protagonist’s litany of denial, from being in love to dreaming of the locomotives in title. But his level of detail betrays him, as it hilariously becomes clear that he doth protest too much. On the slow driving “Miss Mabee,” meanwhile, McCombs starts off innocently enough, describing how the song’s eponymous character “might polish your flute” before prompting grins with the next line: “maybe she won’t give a hoot.”

“Juvenile” is another story entirely. Over an organ key riff that hums like an exotic vintage engine, McCombs rhymes off the multitude of things he thinks “suck,” before devolving into lines like “you suck, I suck.” It’s strange and silly and bizarre, but also oddly catchy, despite being more directly absurd than “Priestess.”

Such comedic twists and turns are rendered even more enjoyable and impressive once you realize McCombs is perfectly capable of playing it straight. The acoustic numbers on much of Interior Live Oak are gorgeously constructed, wholly heartfelt, and boast refrains so catchy they’ll feel familiar as your old favorites from the first listen. Be it the delicately strummed “Missionary Bell,” the haunting hollow drum on “Home at Last,” or the sweetly swaying “Diamonds in the Mine,” McCombs proves himself an unabashed balladeer ready with just the emotional balm so many of us need.

All that said, Interior Live Oak’s best among these numerous excellent songs is “Peace.” It’s not a wry humored rocker like so many of the other songs on this album, nor is it an earnest ballad. Instead, it’s a straight ahead fist pumper with propulsive guitar and percussion, along with a succinctly written chorus that’ll deftly leave you mulling over the varying meanings of the word “peace.” And its guitar solo is an all timer, sounding frayed and disruptive and overflowing with emotion.

Like the rings inside a towering oak tree visible once it’s been felled, this album contains layer upon layer of artistry and songcraft. On Interior Live Oak, Cass McCombs contains multitudes. (www.cassmccombs.com)

Author rating: 8/10