There is an unquestionable distinction in Rita Hosking’s voice that separates her from the middle-of-the-road Americana scene. Her craft isn’t posturing. The evidence lies in her bloodline–every note was created in a band comprised mostly of her husband and daughter. She doesn’t lace banjo into the mix just because it has become trendy to do so; her sound is hers, and in the weight hidden beneath her water-tight voice and hypnotic twang rests the sound of consistency.
Hosking carries on her craft with a fixed and steady determination. With a collection of songs in her back pocket that range from pointed to passionate, she narrates the legacies of the working class flawlessly, walking the line between literary genius and front-porch-storyteller with great precision. The album unfolds in a timeless manner, almost as if it would if Walt Whitman had chosen to wield a banjo instead of a pen.
Her retellings are precisely what Americana is intended to be: chunks of yesteryear, sewn like a patchwork quilt, and bestowed with gorgeous flair and striking harmonies.
In that she is nearly perfect.