In the past decade, Southern Rock has grown up. It has become a more contemplative thing, less about arena anthems and more about understated songwriters. The Drive-By Truckers were at the forefront of this movement, with songs ranging in subject from moon shining to incest that force the listener to pay attention and think about the story. It is still a raw, rough and ramshackle genre, sweaty and sex drenched, but the new writers use this to tell better tales, creating a more perfect poetry because of these factors not in spite of them. New Southern Rock howls right along with Ginsberg, chronicling the best and worst of their generations. Grayson Capps is a Southern Rocker of the new order. Unlike many of his brethren, he is based out of New Orleans rather than Muscle Shoals or Memphis. The result is a bluesier Southern Rock, more influenced by jazz and the Islands. His latest, The Lost Cause Minstrels, is a rich romp through his Southern roots.

“There I go pointing fingers again, how dumb was I to think that I could ever be your man,” Capps sing on the opening “Highway 42.” It is a seething song about bolting at top speed from a malicious relationship, accompanied by train whistle wails on a harmonica. “Coconut Moonshine” is driven by a down and dirty island beat, layered with New Orleans brass and a slinky minor-key vocal. It creates the perfect background for a song about an underground club and the moonshine fuels parties that take place there. “John the Dagger” is an off kilter gospel song, a rocking ballad about temptation and redemption. “I've seen better times, but I'm putting up with these,” Capps' winks in homage to the underrated blues legend Rabbit Brown. Here he covers Jane's Alley Blues,: one of the few surviving songs from Brown's cannon. “Chief Seattle” is quiet, almost reverential and he delivers the lines with the haunting vulnerability he does not often unleash. “I remember what Chief Seattle said, how can you buy the land, how can you buy the air that we breathe, how can you own a man?” “Yes You Are” is a bluesy, hymn-like tribute to the sustaining power of love. Capps keeps her voice low and vulnerable, while Beth Hooker and The McRary Sisters provide sumptuous gospel harmonies. Capps' second cover is the Taj Mahal classic “Annie's Lover.” A simple acoustic shuffle and high harmonies give the ballad a warm and intimate feel. Lest the listener fear that Capp had opted to turn in his tales of the rebellious and the wild for sweet love songs, he follows up “Annie's Lover” with “Ol' Slac (Joe Cain).” The Lost Cause Minstrels weave dance hall pianos with Dixieland brass and gospel harmonies into a wild ride of a song that feels as larger-than-life as its subject. “Pairs France,” starts in a bar overseas discussing Hurricane Katrina, and opens up into a larger musing on the ideas of fate, mistakes and lucky escapes. The song eases lazily by on a shimmering blues note that is vaguely reminiscent of Guy Forsythe. “No Definitions” is a seething rock song, an intriguing breath of electric snarls on an album otherwise devoted to near acoustic settings. Ironically, he dials the music back into a quieter, mellow grove for the song “Rock and Roll.” “Here I am by myself again, sitting around with a fountain pen writing about nothing,” he croons, “nothing gonna be the death of me, nothing gonna set me free, nothing gonna be my salvation.”

There has been a plethora of blues based rock albums so far this year. It would be quite easy for Grayson Capps' The Lost Cause Minstrels to get lost in the crowd. The difference lies in Capps' ability to be specific. He roots his blues and gospel are locked firmly in New Orleans and he relishes exploring all of the sounds this leaves open to him. It is a southern rock album, but more than that it is a rock album that tells the story of the south. It is a wonderful, rollicking romp of an album that laughs in the face of times and troubles.

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