Try Me One More Time

1	Try Me One More Time 3:16
2	Kind Hearted Woman 3:48
3	Big Road 2:53
4	It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry 4:30
5	Buck Dancer's Choice 1:54
6	I Belong to the Band 3:35
7	Moonshiner 1:33
8	Shake Sugaree 3:10
9	Hey Bub 1:37
10	Love Changing Blues 3:10
11	When First Unto This Country 3:03
12	Levee Camp Moan 2:17
13	Trying to Get Home 4:01
14	East Virginia 3:47
15	Windin' Boy 3:18
16	Lonesome Roving Wolves 1:56

Barnes & Noble

Absent from recording since 1990, roots music avatar David Bromberg makes a most welcome return with this collection of vintage folk and blues tunes (plus his own durable title song to spice up the mix), rendered with only his well-seasoned voice and deft, soulful guitar. As per the latter, the masterful Bromberg is in championship form, executing moaning, angular Delta blues lines and jaunty country-folk fingerpicking attacks with equal aplomb. Time has been a benefactor to Bromberg the vocalist, as his once-nasal whine has evolved into a rich, expressive baritone that he employs with an infallible feel for the moment and for the heart. He rages through Tommy Johnson's epic "Big Road," goosing it along with an infectious strolling bass line; strips down to a haunting quiet with Lonnie Johnson-style single-string narration in the foreboding "Levee Camp Moan"; and is positively jubilant in his jaunty fingerpicking of Sam and Kirk McGee's buoyant "Buck Dancer's Choice." Evidence of Bromberg's authoritative interpretive singing is all over the place, but most effectively on the haunting "Lonesome Roving Wolves," an a cappella account of the early Mormons' bloody journey westward. Bromberg used to perform with a big folk band (decades ahead of Bruce Springsteen's assembling of a similar configuration for his Seeger Sessions album and tour), but here, less is more. Try Me One More Time delivers its wit, its wisdom, and its soul undiluted, the artist's voice and instrument alone bearing -- and baring -- unvarnished truths about the human condition. David McGee

All Music Guide

Had David Bromberg been making new recordings all along, then Try Me One More Time would be a welcome addition to his catalog. An all-acoustic, solo set of blues and folk tunes -- one original, several traditional and the rest by established writers such as Bob Dylan, Rev. Gary Davis and Robert Johnson -- the album feels intimate, honest and earthy, and of course the guitar playing is never less than masterful. But Bromberg hadn't released a new album in a long 17 years when Try Me One More Time hit, and because of that it's an underwhelming return. There is no denying that Bromberg, who basically gave up the road and the studio at the dawn of the '90s in order to become a violin maker, possesses an innate love for the roots Americana that populates his comeback album. And on its own merits, it's a satisfying enough listen -- he sounds perfectly comfortable within the familiar domain of this material. But therein lies the disappointment: he's too comfortable. Bromberg's interpretations show little imagination or ingenuity, and after such a lengthy sabbatical, fans would be right to expect something that displays growth and movement in an artist. Try Me One More Time doesn't. Bromberg's Delta-style guitar work is, as always, note-perfect (the two instrumentals are a treat and his slide playing is sweet), but fans already know he can do that with his eyes closed. And while Bromberg, never much of a singer -- the voice is a bit more gravelly these days but otherwise unchanged -- is well-suited for the minimalist renditions of tracks like Dylan's "It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry," Elizabeth Cotten's "Shake Sugaree" and Davis' "Trying to Get Home," there are no real surprises in how he handles those chestnuts. It's not that anyone expected David Bromberg to come back and make a hip-hop record or something equally out of character, but while he undoubtedly enjoyed cutting these songs that have always been dear to his heart, there are few clues here as to what he's been up to for the nearly two decades he spent out of earshot. Jeff Tamarkin