Downstairs Karaoke by Mark Growden

And the eight-minute "Takin' My Time" stretches out a sumptuously junky, lethargic beat lifted directly from a Tom Waitsian alcoholic daze.

Beneath nearly every tune, Growden finger-picks folky chord changes on banjo or acoustic guitar. On "Rental Car," one of the album's most eloquent tracks, he goes solo and Beck-like: "Sometimes I feel like an old piece of toast/ Forgotten in the toaster/ For a couple of days/ And mistakenly put in the freezer." The chorus is an original mantra to live by: "I need a band-aid/ I need a safety pin/ I need a paid vacation in Tahiti with an air-conditioned rental car." This last line would be a mouthful for any folk singer, but Mark Growden's no ordinary balladeer; he's seen the future of karaoke, and it's weirder than you ever imagined.

Sam Prestianni - SF Weekly

Mark Growden is the kind of songwriter who only comes around once in an age. Endlessly, deliriously creative, Growden has recorded and released two full-lengths (Inside Beneath Behind and Downstairs Karaoke), written and performed a myriad of theater pieces, scored music for videos and films, and contributed to Bob Weir's Sun Ra tribute album. His work has earned him a deluge of praise throughout his career, including the Isadora Duncan Award for Best Original Music for a New Dance Piece and two Best Song awards from the Northern California Songwriter's Association. Hailed as "a contender for Beck's throne" by Alternative Press magazine, the restless Growden is one of those musicians who will play anything that gets in his way -- from pawnshop hallmarks such as the accordion, banjo, and saxophone, to a host of freakish home inventions and non-instruments like PVC pipes and scissors. His inventive, imaginative lyrics are as wide ranging as his instrument choices, evoking Tom Waits' ragged theatricality, but on a more charming and personal scale. Growden's stories -- about Ted Nugent, a shuttered factory that made wooden crates in an era of cardboard, and feeling like a piece of meat at a vegan potluck -- are at once contemporary and timeless, funny and heartbreaking, surreal and lucid. It sounds like an impossible set of contradictions, but Growden is born to achieve the inconceivable; for a man with his talents, the impossible is just a starting point.

SF Weekly

A familiar voice to local music lovers, Berkeley's Mark Growden has played in town at What Is Art? and UCSC numerous times over the last year. (He even thanks What Is Art? and locals like Matthew Embry in the liner notes.) He's recently released his first full-length album, Downstairs Karaoke, and on it Growden mines a deep well of sonic styles, utilizing eclectic sounds from exotic instruments--xylophones, tabla, glockenspiels, grandma's organ--many of which Growden plays himself. His songwriting is rooted in folk but he adventures into klezmer, into Indian-influenced sounds, into experiments with feedback, all while maintaining a distinct sense of continuity. While these forays into eclecticism establish Growden as a musical oddity, it's the tranquil, simple songs, the ones with just some acoustic clicks and strumming, that showcase his warm, resonant voice. It's that voice, along with his gift for wordplay (as in "Rental Car" where he sings "Sometimes I feel like a piece of red meat/Precariously placed on a conspicuous plate/ In the middle of table at a potluck for a bunch of young vegans"), that makes Growden so intriguing.

Karen Reardanz - Santa Cruz Metro

San Francisco's Growden is a very talented guy, a multi-instrumentalist, performance artist, filmmaker, and musical collaborator (with THE GRATEFUL DEAD's BOB WEIR and avant garde dance choreographers). Now this debut CD shows off his many musical sides. While he can get all frenetic and goofy on some numbers, he can also swing right around and stab you in the heart with his moving words and touching music. His songs span the ragtag boozy balladry of Tom Waits and the humorous shenanigans of They Might Be Giants. The music accompaniment filling in the cracks of his songs varies from strange circus dirges to Phillip Glass-style minimalism. My personal favorite is "Dirt Road," a simple folk song with guitar, tabla, and heartfelt lyrics. An impressive treat.

by TUCKER PETERTIL - Big Takeover

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