Northern California band engages in an outburst of pleasurable doodling.
The Brothers Comatose claim to have embraced a new genre. According to the brothers Alex and Ben Morrison, a fan started calling their sound golden grass, and the phrase felt just right. So right that the band felt compelled to use that name for their latest album (Swamp Jam Records, 2025). This sound is explained as emanating from a West Coast roots movement, one that fuses old-school string-band instrumentation with singer/songwriter craftsmanship and rock and roll exuberance, all with a deeply rooted sense of place.
The album title and its title song are a double entendre for the Golden State and marijuana (We’ll just burn one down – hopefully weed.) With the state of the state rather tarnished at present, it is understandable how a little pot and a good amount of beer have found their way into the songs on the album. With U-Haul rentals at an all-time high, there is less and less there that Gertrude Stein couldn’t find in Oakland. Thus, you’ll find couch turnips and barstool denizens sprinkled throughout “Golden Grass.” Buttered rum warms up your belly/While the poor men drink their whisky.
‘Huckleberry Wine’ references the golden glow of mountaintops, while one more taste of that fruity vino lights your own golden glow. New member Addie Levy takes the lead vocal on ‘Blue Mountain,’ with passing blue four-door cars that remind of a former lover who liked to have a beverage in the cup holder. But it’s the ‘IPA Song’ that is the most binge-worthy tune on the record. Apparently, through a sponsorship, the band wound up with cases of the bitter, high-alcohol-content Cali beer and got tired enough of it to ask for any one of a litany of cheaper brews. Ronnie McCoury’s mandolin injects some high-spirited energy to this raucous rant. I just wanna enjoy myself/ I don’t wanna be comatose/You can keep your hoppy IPAs/I’ll be sipping on my PBR.
Elsewhere, we have San Francisco as a metaphor for life’s ups and downs on ‘Run Boy Run,’ and the nostalgic odes, ‘My Friend’ and ’25 Miles,’ another road song: Let’s light the fuse/And go out with a blast/ Like a kick in the ass/Let’s hope we don’t crash. You almost wish Alexa would take over as designated driver. Possibly the album’s high-water mark comes on ‘Home Again,’ which is about the fires that engulfed California homes earlier this year, ones whose impact may have been lessened if not for the diversion of resources to protect a 3-inch, endangered fish called the delta smelt. Featuring Lindsay Lou on vocals, the song reckons with loss and resilience in the face of the devastating wildfires that have become an all-too-regular occurrence across the West in recent years.
“We had really good friends lose their house up in the Santa Cruz Mountains, and we’ve been heartbroken watching it happen to so many others all over California,” Alex Morrison explains. “Rather than let it just be a sad song, though, we wanted to capture the beauty that comes with seeing people rebuild and rise from the ashes. We wanted to celebrate the hope that keeps people going through hard times.”
The trouble with the Comatose Brothers being the new frontier of hybrid bluegrass is the comparisons to Molly Tuttle, even Old & in the Way, two artists who moved the frontier way beyond California to the other side of the moon. Those players radiated authenticity and innovation when compared to the gentrification of bluegrass that is sugaring the blood of urban America. For example, you could say this music was chicken-fried steak compared to the filets found in Tuttle and Billy Strings’ music, though chicken-fried does have its strong points. With the Comatose Brothers, it’s the vocal harmonies and instrumentation from driving fiddle (Phil Brezina), banjo (Alex Morrison), mandolin (Levy) and upright bass (Steve Height). And while the collection marks the group’s first release with Levy in the lineup, the result is quintessential Brothers Comatose, a warm, joyful recording from a band that knows exactly who they are and where they come from.
At any rate, the band struggles to find a more mature voice against the rising tide of ticky-tack spawned by those looking to ride the wave of bluegrass revival. One hopes that surely there will come a time for the Comatose Brothers when the Mother of Creation will prevail.
