This Side Of Jordan

I first heard "This Side of Jordan" while sipping a single origin Rwandan pourover in Hamilton, Montana at Big Creek Coffee Roasters, which just happens to be the very best spot in the scenically splendid Bitterroot Valley to enjoy a world-class cup of coffee. There was something about the songs that afternoon that led me to approach the barista to ask what they were playing. When I made it back home to Missoula, where I was teaching at the time, I immediately located a copy of the album at a local record shop, Rockin Rudy's. Special places like record shops selling CD and vinyl still exist in western Montana, even in the Age of Amazon.I tended to play the album at night while sitting in a comfortable armchair before a brick fireplace, sipping rye whiskey, sometimes gin, from Montgomery Distillery in a thick glass with a cube or two (at most) of ice. I sang along to “There was a Time,” unable to harmonize properly with Andrew and Emily but doing my best to make up for it in sheer vocal enthusiasm (which I am sure my next-door neighbors truly appreciated). The sound of Emily's quietly soulful, wisplike voice in "The Doorman" would sometimes move me to tears, while I laughed and smiled as Andrew humorously crooned his parts of the light-hearted tune, "Waltz about Whiskey.” I made up my mind to go to bed once they finished singing "Until the Last Light Fades." Ambien has nothing on Mandolin Orange when it comes to songs that lull you to sleep with a sense of warmth and genuine human embrace. And definitely just as habit forming!So far, so good. But what about all those other times in life when there is no comfy chair, no warm fire, and no stiff drink to keep you company? What if you have 100 miles or more of open road to tackle between Burns, Oregon and the California border? Is "This Side of Jordan" road trip worthy, in other words, or merely something for the quieter, more reflective moments in life?Like some sort of Swiss army knife or infinitely adaptable Leatherman multi-tool, Mandolin Orange manages to morph from a fireside companion to a dependable traveling sidekick without missing a beat. They are like the MacGyver of musicians. I put the CD in as soon as I refueled my Subaru Outback Sport in Burns (or rather, had an attendant fill it up, being eastern Oregon where full service gas stations still exist). It stayed on past Wagontire, which I sped through without stopping (nothing there to look at, honestly), past the amazing vistas at the Abert Rim, into Lakeview for a rest stop, and as far as Alturas, California. Actually, I think it stayed playing on repeat until I reached my camping site for the night at Burney Falls State Park, if memory serves.When you listen to "This Side of Jordan" while on a road trip, especially a solo road trip in a remote part of the country like the Oregon Outback, you really appreciate the rhythms and pacing of the album's playlist. It's the kind of music you play while watching wild antelope gaze back at your speeding vehicle with a mixture of disbelief, disgust, and wonder. It's the music you want when stopping to stare at a sheer cliff of volcanic rock fronted by a dazzling array of blooming sagebrush, or when setting up your tent to the sound of a thousand croaking frogs from the safety of a nearby creekside covered in cattails and marsh grass. As much as I still like aging rockers like Bruce Springsteen, his attempts at writing the Great American Road Trip album (“Western Stars”) simply can’t compare with what Mandolin Orange is able to conjure up, like some sort of bluegrass singing, folktale spinning, truth-to-power telling wizards of the pick and bow.While technically a North Carolina group based in the university town of Chapel Hill, Mandolin Orange is truly an all-American band that tours widely and sees much along the way that is both tranquil and troubling. They likely have passed through places like Burns, Lakeview, Alturas, and Burney on many an occasion, I'll bet. Chances are they aren't strangers to fireside pours of a good gin or whiskey, either. Their music seems to bridge the outer limits of musical listening: the intimate and enclosed, on the one hand, and the expansive and seemingly endless, on the other.So, which came first: my love for the music of Mandolin Orange, or my love for the vast, sweeping landscapes and remote roadways of the American West? Or my equally ardent love of locally roasted, freshly made coffee? I think I'm going call it a three-way tie and leave it at that. And hope that Andrew and Emily would agree.