Poor Josh Ritter. God has anointed him a prophet, sending him out to tell the rest of us that: a) the end is nigh, and b) we’re all going to be toast. It’s not good news, but instead of letting it drag him down, Ritter is finding a seat by the bonfire, unpacking a bag of marshmallows and letting his words flow like beer at a kegger apocalypse. There’s “Henrietta, Indiana,” the story of a father and son making a booze run to Putney, Ky., that ends in three dead bodies. There’s “Seeing Me ’Round,” about a man who’s been stabbed once, shot twice and thrown off a bridge onto the ice below; he may or may not be alive.
In between, there are beckoning graveyards, tempting infidels, parents who rush their daughters to bible college, Moses looking at the moon, a Jesus who hates high-school dances and Ritter himself, making good on his promise that “If you want to see a miracle, watch me get down.” He does, again and again, in guitar lines that are jittery with pop portent, hosting a sharp-witted party for nonbelievers everywhere.
—Kenny Berkowitz
