Paramour is an atmospheric wonder, with wide-open Western vistas that conjure up dusty dreamlike images of sun scorched Arizona or northern Mexico. The songs are full of murder, outlaws, victims, retribution, angels, crosses and ghosts creating hauntingly tender soundscapes that fuse the Old West with the 21st century.
Dallas based Steven Collins formed Deadman in 1999. Leaving his previous band the Plebians, Collins struck out on his own after hearing two records that would influence his future direction. The first was Shylingo, Tim Gibbons’ 1998 album. Gibbons was an old friend of fellow Canadian Daniel Lanois, though his music was firmly rooted in the Southern desert and the Mexican border. The second crucial album was Willie Nelson’s Teatro, recorded at an abandoned porn theatre in Oxnard, California, converted to a studio by Lanois. According to Collins, ‘I thought, “Man, this is what I want to do, this kind of sound, Mexican and vibe-y.” It was sort of dark, and I was attracted to it.’ Both records were engineered and co-produced by longtime Lanois associate Mark Howard, so Collins contacted him. Collins had a bunch of songs ready to go but needed the right band to record them. A bassist friend, Britton Beisenherz, had been hassling to work with Collins for some time, and when drummer John Scully rolled up Deadman was born. As the trio rehearsed at Britton’s place, Steven’s wife Sherilyn began adding keyboards or gentle harmony vocals and before long it was clear that she was in the band too. Steven was wary at first, ‘I thought she might get bored with it. But it's worked really well, because it keeps us together… She’s an integral part of the sound.’
Vital to the success of Deadman’s sound are Steven and Sherilyn’s delightful harmonies, which wrap around each other so well that at times you can’t tell who’s who. One critic even compared their beautifully delicate duets to those by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell – if Gaye and Terrell had ‘ever found themselves down on their luck and drowned in tequila…’
An ep of early songs, Quatro Canciones, was privately issued in 2000 and the band backed Tim Gibbons on the impossibly hard to find Streets Of Dallas album, before Mark Howard’s schedule finally allowed him a couple of weeks to record with Deadman. Sadly, by this time, the Teatro studio had closed but Howard decided to move the band onto the Paramour estate, high in the Hollywood Hills, for a few weeks in the summer of 2001. There, in a reputedly haunted house (it features in Scream 3 and Halloween H2O), the band recorded their debut album.
Although influenced by traditional Tex / Mex music Deadman weren’t afraid to embrace new technology – Sherilyn used an omnichord (a hand held rhythm and strings gadget) on a number of tracks and Britton sometimes played a synth bass. Every song inhabits new sonic territory. The most ‘old fashioned’ is opening track “The Ballad Of Padre Miguel” with its Spanish guitar and weary tale of a guilt-wracked priest who has betrayed his vow of celibacy. “Rosa Marie” contains some shimmering lap steel guitar, Hammond organ and dreamily sensuous vocals, which hover in the heat haze, and “The Pale Rider” summons up the spirit of Clint Eastwood with brooding synths, a snaking bass, and a propulsive woody sound from the drums. As with most tracks on Paramour the highly visual and poetic lyrics of “The Pale Rider” touch on timeless Western themes of betrayal, law-breaking and retribution (in this case the song is about two outlaws, William and Phoenix, and their plan to rob a bank in Denver and kill everyone so that there are no witnesses). Elsewhere, “Sun Goes Down” lightens the mood with a jaunty reflection on falling in love with music in various locations, “Blue River” sounds like U2 recast as a soulful Texas band, and “Lonely Times” recalls Dylan and the Band with some bluesy harmonica and lyrics for ‘lonely people, feeling blue… just like you.’
Arguably the most impressive track, “Three Murders” comes right up to date with a harrowing true story that Collins had read in Texas Monthly about the frightening lawlessness in Juárez, just across the border in Mexico. Collins’ resigned and despairing vocals offer little hope.
The album concludes with a couple of bonus tracks – a gently sincere reading of Paul Simon’s “America” is enhanced by Sherilyn’s touchingly sentimental vocals before a long pause ushers in an untitled instrumental, which ambiently shimmers and sparkles.
Mark Howard’s expansive wide-screen production suits the songs remarkably well, creating darkly emotional tracks that would sound equally at home in a smoky after hours bar or a stadium. This oddly successful mix of the Cowboy Junkies, Mazzy Star, Willie Nelson and U2, achieves its aim perfectly, creating images of a mysterious yet romantic border culture. Steven Collins was pleasantly surprised by the result – ‘I thought it would be a sort of quiet, hear-a-pin-drop kind of record. It turned out to be a bit more epic than I thought it would be…’
Paramour established Deadman as a force to be reckoned with and the band have gradually built up a strong but sadly still small following (Steven only recently gave up his day job at Southwest Airlines) amongst Americana aficionados and rock, folk and country fans alike.
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