DON'T FENCE HIM IN

---

By John T. Davis
Special to the Austin American-Statesman

Published: Feb. 12, 1998

                         
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. 

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