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I Got No Place Remembers Me opens with the sound of a radio dial spinning through static, briefly picking up ominous words from a charismatic preacher. Brad Armstrong settles into a pitch-dark story-song about blind faith and brutal betrayal, but the seven-minute “Brother Ford” is a bit of a feint, as the album shifts from third person to first, from Southern gothic to starkly confessional. Armstrong makes graceful DIY folk that incorporates ramshackle blues on “13 Anchors” and slow-dance country on “Fishing Pole”. And when he leads the bruised “Carry Your Head High to its rousing finale, he makes every triumphant note sound wholly and beautifully earned.
-UNCUT MAGAZINE 8/10
Armstrong casts his line into the pool of Americana alt verity to deliver stories chipped from rock, hewn from Bald Cypress, dug from dirt, ploughed in the fields and infused with rock n roll poetry and grit.
Armstrong sings with a fervently emotive directness that is reminiscent of Patterson Hood and Levon Helm.
I Got No Place Remembers Me provides listeners with scrumptious Americana melodies, expressive lyrics, and luscious vocals.
Brad Armstrong's second solo album, "I Got No Place Remembers Me" is beautiful, haunting, harshly poetic and really just a hell of a thing to behold.