Austin American-Statesman
Don't fence him in: Michael Fracasso bucks stereotype of Texas singer-songwriter
by John T. Davis

That homespun, Southwestern cracker-barrel philosopher, Billy Bob Tolstoy, once observed that "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."

Similarly, it might be noted that Austin singer-songwriters are (to the world outside Texas) a largely indistinguishable breed. You know the type: guitar in hand, heart on sleeve, record deal on hold. . .

But examine them in microcosm, and each betrays his or her own idiosyncrasies.

Take Michael Fracasso for instance, who has actually been reading Tolstoy. Like, on purpose, dude.

"Anna Karenina," if you must know, and he is a big fan. "It's unbelievable," he was saying. "The writing is so incredible."

It's instructive to picture Fracasso sitting on the porch, a freshly minted verse and chorus of some new song under his belt, sipping coffee and polishing off a little Tolstoy somewhere in South Austin. It's an image that flies in the face of the popular notion of a guitar picker who can't read anything more complex than a Waffle House menu.

Similarly, Fracasso differs in ways subtle and overt from his Lone Star singing-songwriting brethren and sistren. He's from the Midwest, for one thing, and for another, he really did do time in the coffeehouse boho scene in New York City. His sweetly tremulous tenor voice has been likened to that of Roy Orbison, and although most of his songs revolve around the guitar, he contends, "to put my records in the folk bin is just like murder to me. I don't think people that buy folk music today would hear that as folk music."

The "that" to which he alludes is his third album, "World in a Drop of Water," which was officially released two days ago (although, owing to touring obligations, Fracasso won't celebrate its release in Austin until an in-store party at Waterloo Records on March 13 and a show at the Cactus Cafe on March 14).

Like its predecessor, "When I Lived in the Wild," "World in a Drop of Water" is being released on the independent label. But unlike that previous effort, the new album boasts a marquee name on the producer's credit.

Charlie Sexton, whose performing credits run from Joe Ely to Bob Dylan and beyond, was enlisted to turn the knobs on Fracasso's latest project, and the ensuing collaboration results in more left-of-center tangents than anything to come down the pike since Lyle Lovett turned Nashville on its collective ear.

The juxtaposition of the rocker and the poet is not as ill-matched as it might first appear, in large part because Fracasso embodies something of both incarnations himself. Journeying from his native Ohio, Fracasso fetched up in Manhattan and insinuated himself into the fertile Greenwich Village songwriting scene, centered on the Cornelia St. Cafe (which also gave aid and comfort to the likes of Steve Forbert, Shawn Colvin, the Roches, Suzanne Vega and other luminaries).

But at the same time, Fracasso enjoyed testing his mettle by performing with an acoustic guitar at the downtown punk rock landmark, CBGB's. "(Club owner) Hilly Kristal would let me play solo," Fracasso recalled. "I loved doing stuff like that, 'cause it was really a challenge."

Even after moving to Austin in 1990, Fracasso relished playing at rowdy venues like the Hole in the Wall. And he has for the past few years represented one-third (along with David Halley and Mark Hallman) of the rocking songwriters' collective, Hamilton Pool.

"I love the coffeehouses on the road, but the atmosphere can get too clean sometimes," said Fracasso, as a grin lit up his dark Italian visage. "Sometimes I really need a drink. The only places I really hate to play is anyplace where they serve food."

The music on "World in a Drop of Water" will be a challenge to replicate on the road. The songs are replete with slippery, multilayered imagery, a dreamy sense of timelessness, a densely layered instrumentation (utilizing everything from bouzouki to pump organ to pedal steel guitar and cello), and the palpable sense of a journey undertaken -- like it or hate it, no one who listens to Fracasso's new album will come out the same place they went in.

"That's what Charlie and I always talked about," said Fracasso, of the latter observation. He went on to confess that the songs on the album came out of a period of despair in his life (although he declined to discuss the specifics).

"I was noticing that many of the songs used the word 'world,' or, gave a sense of that; the world's gotten so small, it's this tiny little place . . . (and) I felt sort of trapped. Things could have fallen apart and I could have lost it completely."

The artistic residue of that turmoil emerges in songs like "Chain-Link Fence" ("Chain-link fence cut me off/Now there's room/For you to be the boss," he sings), the propulsive rocker "Started on the Wrong Foot" ("Unhappy hour at the bar/I hold on to regrets. . ."'), and "Gold" ("I got this map that leads to nowhere/The only thing I ever find").

The CD's lyric booklet is laced with sketches by Fracasso depicting various characters walled in behind those same chain-link fences. "It (the song and drawings) is just sort of about locking up your feelings," he explained. Fracasso admitted that he writes best behind a strong emotional catalyst. "I'm not real good at just sitting there rhyming words."

Though he professes to be in a more tranquil place now, Fracasso said the prevailing mood of the songs made them stand apart as a self-contained unit that demanded inclusion on a single album.

Besides Sexton's multi-instrumental contributions, the tracks also feature Fracasso's band, Horse Opera (which for the moment consists of drummer Dave McNair, guitarists Mac McNabb and Bart Willis, and bassist George Reiff).

In concert, Fracasso's deceptively keening, vulnerable voice, introspective subject matter (one critic likened him to Chris Isaak with a Texas touch) and occasional jazz inflections are all a far cry from the rough-hewn template of the stereotyped "Texas singer-songwriter."

But Fracasso relishes the distinctions, depending on his touring schedule to keep his perspective on his adopted home town keenly whetted. "The reason Austin is still a good place for me is because I get to travel," he said. "If you just walk the dog down the same street and go to the same coffeehouse and go to the same store for groceries, you start to get blinders on. But if you go someplace new, you're more apt to notice things when you come home."

For now, home is the domicile Fracasso shares with his wife Paula, the executive director of the Austin Parks Foundation. But he keeps one eye on the road, the ribbon to the horizon that sharpens his creative edge. Like his singing and songwriting peers, he is both anchored to the porch and beckoned by the road.

In, as Tolstoy might have noted, his own peculiar way.