Scott Everhardt sounds more like classic early Bob Dylan than anyone who has put pen to paper and harmonica to mouth in the last 20 years. With his strumming guitar melodically rounding out songs of vivid lyrical imagery and sad philosophy, Everhardt sees how we are and feeds it back with illuminated focus on the shadows behind the main stage. His work is acoustic and quiet, with no solos and no band. His voice is cigarette rough, with an emotional depth that conveys appropriate softness to his words. Each song brings a world of character and story to the listener, and vibrates with lessons learned in retrospect.
As much as he emulates Dylan, however, it cannot be said that Everhardt does not have a style of his own. His writing is rich and evocative; ripe with metaphoric detail and Kodak precision. The trains, bars and towns of America are the setting for tales of small time mistakes and regretted, sometimes resented goodbyes. The sorrows may be the same, but Everhardt deftly brings the cuts to the surface in new and real ways.