Collected (1999-2000)

Album Review

When he's not picking folk tunes on his acoustic, Ritt Deitz spends his time running the French Masters program at the University of Wisconsin in Madison and helming a filmmaking nonprofit. So it comes as no great surprise that the songs collected on Collected (1999-2000) are often vividly cinematic or that Deitz is a meticulous crafter of imagery (or that he sometimes breaks into French mid-song). But despite his academic credentials, Deitz rarely gets overly literary, preferring to make the most of a simple observation. In "Give Me a Flower," he acknowledges that such a request might be construed as "hippie," but he desires one nonetheless. And in "Pie," with its cheerful lap steel guitar, he craves one of those tasties so he decides to roll out of bed and bake himself one. Don't go thinking this is some Jonathan Richman romp through happy-go-lucky-ville though: Deitz is just as skilled at turning out a bluesy mourner like the self-explanatory "Bury Me Beneath the Willow" or the reflective, soulful "Creek Water." These early recordings — he's released a few albums since — are few-frills, countrified affairs, simple, organic tales told with instrumentation largely of the unplugged variety: dulcimers, mandolin, accordion and piano. The songs are resurrected from Deitz's first two albums (both now out of print) and despite their recent vintage are universal enough that they could just as easily have been penned at any time in the past half century.