Ben Donovan

For a young guy, Ben Donovan sure is old-school. The Virginia transplant paid his musical dues in Burlington the hard way, busking for rent. If you spent any time on Church Street in the last couple of years, you've likely heard his silver-toned tenor giving voice to Buck Owens and Johnny Cash classics and, for good measure — and tips — the odd Paul Simon number. From there he started a country band, Reverend Ben Donovan & the Congregation, and grew his flock gradually, with under-the-radar gigs at juke joints around the Queen City.

Eventually Donovan caught the ear of local producer/musician/starmaker Jer Coons, who, in a recent email to Seven Days, says Donovan is the most impressive local singer he's heard since he stumbled on his other protégé, the ascendant Caroline Rose.

Donovan and his band holed up in the studio with Coons and, armed with the requisite amount of beer and smokes, laid down 20 tracks in two days. This was on top of a previous afternoon solo session in which Donovan tracked an additional 14 acoustic cuts. The result is an exceptional debut that, much like recent albums by Sturgill Simpson, Chris Stapleton and Jason Isbell, treats country-music tradition not as rigid gospel or a museum piece but as a living, breathing — and drinking — thing to be molded and reinterpreted.

Take, for example, album centerpiece "If There's DJs in Heaven." Though it boasts bright production that recalls 1970s outlaw country, the song is a pastiche of an even older tune, the Buck Owens staple "Sweethearts in Heaven." But there's a modern, snarky twist. "If there's DJs in heaven, I don't wanna go," sings Donovan with a drawling sneer. Then, "I'll take Satan's breath over goin' deaf cuz of some hipster with a MacBook Pro."

As a songwriter, Donovan is cut from a similar cloth — let's say denim — as gritty writers such as Steve Earle and Bobby Bare. But he's blessed with a versatile voice that can be both the sandpaper and the smooth, gleaming surface. He proves an adept crooner on cuts such as "Mumble" and "End of the Road Woman." But he's best with a little hitch in his voice — a lingering Marlboro rasp to rough up the edges.

The best example of this comes on "I've Been There My Friend," a touching but blunt song of consolation in dark times. "Cuz I know how it feels to be stranded," he sings with a weariness that belies his youth. "In Blue County, population: me / Where the road's torn you all to pieces / and there ain't no help as far as you can see."

Donovan is by no means in the same league as Simpson and Stapleton — or Earle and Bare, for that matter. But, like those singers, he's found a loophole in the ironclad bylaws of traditional country that allows for experimentation and evolution. At its heart, Donovan's debut is classic, old-school stuff, patterned after long-gone honky-tonk heroes. But it's also a distinctly modern album that's unafraid to stare Waylon in the eye and affirmatively answer the question, "Are you sure Hank done it this way?" - Seven Days

Independent country singer and songwriter Ben Donovan talks about the debut album release in 2015:

“I grew up in Virginia, raised on country and bluegrass music. I also sang in church. Mom’s family reunions turned into all-afternoon picking sessions. Dad always had “Sweetheart Of The Rodeo” on in the house. I started the band when I was living up in Burlington, Vermont while going to college there. It started as a pick-up thing; we’d play country standards in bars on Saturday nights. It’s kind of an uphill battle, in those parts–country music, roots music, just isn’t part of the vernacular up there, so we needed to be the loudest, weirdest thing in town if we were gonna get anybody’s attention. So I went online and became a reverend for $18–now we weren’t just playing badass country music, we were saving your goddamn soul too.

We recorded the debut album Reverend Ben Donovan and the Congregation (released August 2015 by Future Fields) in the dead of winter in Burlington, in a studio above a bar and across from the divorce court. Tracked about 20 songs in two days. We’d make a couple passes at a song, step outside for a smoke, walk into the bar for a shot, then back up to the studio. Sing, smoke, drink, repeat. We didn’t sleep much. Figured the best way to do the songs justice was to record them the same way I’d lived ’em–fast, dirty, sincere, and with little regard for my own health.

The songs reflect the music of the honky-tonk heroes I grew up on–guys like Hank Williams, Buck Owens, Gram Parsons–but aren’t trapped under that tradition either. On this record, you’ll hear everything from old-fashioned juke-joint country to loud, badass rock and roll, to old-time gospel standards. Drinking songs. Traveling songs. Degenerate love ballads. There’s something for everybody. I hope y’all dig it.”

“As for San Juan Peaks”, specifically:

“San Juan Peaks is about a breakup I had a few years back, told through the story of a road trip we took across the country right before things went south. It’s a song about how two well-intentioned people can grow apart, and how sometimes the worst heartbreaks aren’t necessarily anybody’s fault–it’s just the way things go sometimes. You learn a lot about somebody when you spend a month or two living with them in a Honda Civic, and they learn a lot about you. Sometimes you learn a little too much.” - New Millennium Music