This song reminds me of 70s-style singer-songwriter songs with how concise the writing is. Every bit of music only exists to serve the lyrics and the message left to his children. It’s a deeply poignant and moving performance that transcends how simple the song is on paper – its emotional core trumps any need for a complicated arrangement to shine through.

The Beach Boys and Beatles influences are audible in the melodic construction without ever feeling like pastiche. For a project that has been quietly building a catalog since 2021 – a double album, a full-length in 2023 digging into Americana, and now a folk-leaning direction on the new record – “Bells of Silver” lands as one of the more emotionally direct things in that body of work. Simple on purpose, and better for it.

Musically, the acoustic guitar and simple percussive elements create a musical drone that represents the stagnation and inaction Kevin is speaking to in the lyrics – the paralysis of not pursuing opportunities that could have turned out great if only fear wasn’t so crippling. In hindsight, there is a lot of regret around those moments where fear got the upper hand, and the song takes time to dwell on that beautifully, especially with those almost spoken-word baritone vocals that carry a strong Leonard Cohen quality.

The influence list – Tom Waits, Roger Waters, Nick Cave, Joni Mitchell – is a coherent one for a song this measured and lyrically focused, and Driscoll earns the comparison rather than just claiming it. For a song about the roads not taken, the production wisely resists the urge to overcrowd the space. The restraint is the point.

Jacarandas is the record Mermaid Avenue have been circling for a decade. Built around the songwriting of frontman Peter Clarke and shaped by the full band across years of playing together, the album balances intimate storytelling with expansive arrangements — electric and acoustic guitars, lap steel, pedal steel, keys, bass, mandolin, and vocal harmonies all finding their place in a sound that feels both carefully constructed and entirely natural. Clarke’s voice — warm, weathered, and frequently compared to Michael Stipe — carries songs that explore memory, ambition, ageing, love, and the lives of characters both real and imagined. It is the kind of record that rewards close listening and rewards it again.

The album’s closing track, “Boy in the Mirror,” features guest fiddle from Melinda Coles, adding a haunting, elegiac final note to a record that earns it.

⇒ Check out our thoughts on “Jacarandas” here.

Named after the jacaranda bloom, the album carries that same seasonal feeling, something that arrives, transforms everything briefly, then fades into memory. Jacarandas becomes more than a title; it frames the entire record as a passing moment you’re invited to sit inside, even if only for a while.

The album opens with “Talk Pretty,” immediately grounding us in a familiar yet inviting sonic space. Guitar-driven and warm, it echoes the spirit of classic Americana without feeling derivative. There’s a sense of ease in how it unfolds, just a band fully settled into their sound. That same sense of motion continues with “First Move,” a track that feels almost cinematic in its openness, like watching landscapes shift through a car window while your thoughts wander elsewhere.

When the album reaches its title track, “Jacarandas,” everything softens into something more suspended. The strumming is simple but emotionally charged, with sliding guitars that seem to stretch each moment just a little longer. It’s a song rooted in longing, but it never collapses into heaviness, instead, it lingers, allowing the listener to sit within its quiet nostalgia.

Mermaid Avenue’s sensitivity to atmosphere is quite evident. “Better Not to Know” introduces a subtle shift, with keys that shimmer gently and create a nocturnal mood, like reflections on wet pavement under dim city lights. Meanwhile, “She’ll Come Down When She’s Ready” carries a quiet tension, its riff looping with a sense of restraint that feels both unresolved and intentional.

At the center of it all is Peter Clarke’s voice: warm, weathered, and deeply present. He doesn’t push emotion outward; he lets it settle inward. Around him, the band builds textured arrangements with care: layered guitars, soft harmonies, touches of lap steel and keys that expand the sound without overwhelming it. Every element feels considered, yet never rigid.

The closing track, “Boy in the Mirror,” gently strips everything back. With Melinda Coles’ fiddle weaving through the arrangement, the song leans into a more traditional, almost timeless space. It feels introspective and exposed, like a quiet moment of reckoning. There’s no dramatic conclusion. Just a soft release, leaving space for reflection.

Jacarandas is an album shaped by time: how it moves, how it settles, how it reshapes what we carry. Mermaid Avenue navigate alt-country, indie rock, and folk with a quiet confidence, never losing their emotional center. The result is a record that feels cohesive not because it tries to be, but because it simply is..

 

It’s incredible how much this song feels like sitting in a circle around a hearth and singing along to a timeless folk song. From a production standpoint, it’s remarkable, and from a songwriting perspective, it’s genuinely sharp – the way it comments on political protest with so few words and yet says so much is the mark of a lyricist who knows exactly when to stop. The cello from Liz Hanks does a lot of the emotional heavy lifting without crowding the arrangement, and the vocal interplay adds a communal warmth that suits the subject matter perfectly. It feels like a song that was always going to exist, like it was waiting to be written rather than constructed.

Sweet Songs & Bitter Truth is due next month, and if Nick Cody has more material at this level across the full record, then it should be one for the ages. Personally, I feel like we crave an album of this genre because the music industry has become a bit overly saturated with hyper-produced songs, and this stripped-down folky approach to songwriting has become a bit of a lost art, but thankfully Nick Cody has not forgotten it and is actively working on keeping that art alive.

The song is a genuine anthem and it knows it. The chorus – “Love ain’t everything, but it’s a damn good way to start” – is the kind of line you don’t forget, and the production frames it perfectly. The textures are going for that 70s classic rock thing throughout, warm and wide, but with less of Led Zeppelin’s raw, almost dangerous grit and more of a polished pop sheen – think Foreigner rather than Zeppelin at their heaviest. The guitars have swagger without being sloppy, the rhythm section locks in tight, and the whole arrangement builds in a way that feels deliberate and road-tested. By the time the final chorus comes around, it’s being chanted more than sung, which is exactly the point.

“Love Ain’t Everything” is the kind of track that makes more sense live than it does on first listen – though it lands pretty well on first listen too. With the band already building momentum off the back of “Duck That Jeep,” this one suggests they’ve got more range than a viral hit about Jeep culture might imply.

Fronted by Todd Kolod, whose later work with JustFolk would carry a more defined sonic identity, Daddy-Doo Band exists here in a more immediate, almost fragile space. Much of Daddy-Done: 2003–2009 was recorded in single takes, and that decision lingers in every corner of the record. There’s no attempt to conceal the small imperfections, the slight looseness in timing, the breath between phrases, the human hesitation. Instead, these details become part of the emotional architecture.

The project moves across acoustic folk and alternative rock textures, but genre feels secondary to atmosphere. Tracks like “Squeaky” unfold with an easy charm, carried by melodic lines that feel instinctive rather than constructed. “Twinkle Little Star – Minor Variation” gently reframes the familiar into something more introspective, while “Growing” stretches into a space of quiet reflection, where the passage of time becomes almost audible.

What’s compelling is the sense that these songs were never chasing a final form. The earlier recordings, captured live with the full band, hold a kind of immediacy that resists refinement, while the later, more produced tracks begin to hint at the direction Kolod would later pursue. The shift doesn’t disrupt the listening experience; it deepens it. You begin to hear not just songs, but a trajectory.

Behind the music, there’s a story rooted in community. Formed in Saint Paul, Minnesota, Daddy-Doo Band brought together musicians from parenting groups Kolod was part of as an educator, with proceeds supporting public school initiatives. Even the band’s name, drawn from a child’s affectionate nickname, carries that sense of intimacy; music not as a distant performance, but as something woven into everyday life.

Listening to Daddy-Done: 2003–2009 feels more like you’ve been entrusted with something personal. Daddy-Doo Band doesn’t present a polished narrative here; instead, they offer fragments: honest, uneven, and deeply felt; they definitely leave behind something far more lasting than perfection: a body of work that simply tells the truth, exactly as it was..

 

• As an early childhood teacher and parent educator from 1985 to 2012, how did your professional role in Saint Paul Public Schools directly inspire the formation of Daddy-Doo Band and the selection of its members from parenting groups?

My father was killed in a boating accident in 1958 at age 22.  My family lived in Las Vegas.  (Both my grandfathers were involved in the hotel and casino business there, a legal opportunity for gambling after years of trouble with the law in other states.)  I was almost 3 years old.  My mother didn’t deal openly with the death and she told me “your dad went away.”  Then a year later my mother remarried and she changed her story.  I came to believe that my stepfather was my biological dad.  This white lie worked well until she divorced when I was around 11 and she said, “By the way, he’s not your real dad.”   So began my journey in life.  Though I didn’t realize it at the time, this set in motion my career choice to specialize as an early childhood teacher working with kids around age 3, the age I was when my dad died.  And then later pursuing my parenting education license after I had kids of my own, I developed the specialty of leading fathers-only groups.  I had an insatiable father-hunger in my soul.  The Daddy-Doo Band is composed of participants from the fathers groups which  I led: Michale Carvale (bass), Robert Lipscomb (keyboard), Mike Pretel (drums), John Richardson (rhythm guitar), and Ben Woolman (fingerstyle guitar).   Anne Zielske (backup vocals & flute) was recruited from another group at our program with mostly moms.

• The band’s name originated as a playful nickname from your younger son. In what ways did this personal family connection influence the lighthearted yet emotionally charged tone of the early songs written during the 2003–2009 period?

My younger son Joel who coined the band’s name used to poke fun at my idiosyncrasies.  My first song “Daddy-Doo” captures this with references to me falling asleep while reading his bedtime stories and famously gobbling up all the foods he didn’t finish on his plate.  Joel would playfully mock my resultant “big gut” too.  Joel had some growth hormone issues as a young child.  This likely inspired “Last But Mighty”.

• Many tracks on Daddy-Done: 2003-2009 were captured as live, first-take recordings with the full band. What unique challenges and rewards arose from embracing these unpolished performances rather than pursuing multiple studio takes?

Time was a precious resource for the band members.  They all had young children at home and busy lives.  It was difficult finding rehearsal and recording dates when everyone could assemble all at once.  We had few opportunities.  Out of necessity we had to go with many first or second takes.  Steve Lambert, our producer for the early albums, did the best he could to clean up the tracks.  But there they were, honest but with flaws.  Let’s just say that keeping a steady beat was not my forté.  There were no click tracks for most of the recordings.

• Later songs on the compilation benefited from the skilled production of John Richardson. How did the shift from raw live sessions to more refined production reflect your growth as the band’s main songwriter and sole musical amateur?

The band thrived through 2007.  But the demands of family life for its members led to a transition with more studio production with the talented John Richardson as producer and John Ostby with backup vocals.  With this new format we were able to release songs which required fewer scheduling demands and personnel.  John played many of the extra instrument parts himself.  This partnership was to be the successor to Daddy-Doo Band.  I even copyrighted the name: SoulFolk.  In the end, fate had a different idea.

• The band sold 5,000 cassettes and CDs with all proceeds directed to the Rondo ECFE Parent Advisory Council. What lasting impact did this community fundraising model have on your approach to music as a vehicle for social good?

We had a wonderful built-in fan base with the Rondo Early Childhood Family Education program of the Saint Paul Public Schools.  Each year the program enrolled over 125 families.  The band donated a few thousand dollars to the parent advisory council during our run.  The advisory council used the funds to purchase play equipment for the program and pay for field trips.

• The compilation serves as a sonic bridge to the music that would later define your subsequent projects. In curating these 19 tracks, what criteria guided the selection to illustrate the organic development of your songwriting voice over those six years?

I wasn’t convinced I could actually write my own songs.  But then “Daddy-Doo” was born in 2003 to my surprise.   I borrowed some chord shapes from John Mayer’s “No Such Thing” and America’s “Ventura Highway.”  This gave me the confidence to continue, one song at a time.  One song led to another.  I didn’t over analyze or fuss over the tunes.  They just came to me.

• Themes of family, resilience, and everyday humanity run through songs such as “Growing,” “Welcome Home,” and “Last But Mighty.” How did your experiences as a parent and educator shape these lyrical motifs during the Daddy-Doo Band era?

These three songs emerged from all of my life experience, including teaching.  “Growing” stems from a lifelong focus on the passage of time.  Even as a little boy, I had a chair in our living room that I would return to every now and then to contemplate how quickly time had passed.  You could say I became a ‘dweller’ at an early age.  “Welcome Home” conjures up the difficult teen years with my older son Ethan.  “Last But Mighty” refers to my consistent desire to champion the underdogs.  It’s in my DNA.

• With the band featuring a mix of professional players—including Michael Carvale on bass, Mike Pretel on drums, and Anne Zielske on flute and backup vocals—how did the dynamic between your amateur songwriting and their expertise create the lush, somber acoustic sound captured on the compilation?

The sum was more powerful than the individual parts with the Daddy-Doo Band.  The band members were always able to surprise me and take my simple demos to another level.  Like I said earlier, we had very few rehearsals but the result was several one-take wonders.  Special thanks to Robert Lipscomb who rounded out the lineup on keyboards.

• The release of Daddy-Done: 2003-2009 arrives at a moment when you are actively engaged in humanitarian efforts in Ukraine. In what ways has this current work influenced your perspective on the enduring value of the music you created two decades ago?

Ukraine is defending its sovereign borders established in 1991.  International law generally honored this concept until Russia illegally invaded in 2014 and again in 2022.  Fighting for democracy often feels like being the underdog.  The Daddy-Doo Band with a decent catalogue of music but with little recognition is a musical underdog.

• Having now compiled and shared these early recordings, what reflections on the passage of time and personal growth have emerged from revisiting the material after more than fifteen years?

Creating music between 2003-2009 with the band members was a magical experience, but it was time limited.  I know for a fact that I couldn’t repeat what we had accomplished.  The ideas and the spark were there between 2003-2009, but now they are gone.

• The compilation highlights a period of spontaneous creativity before your songwriting output reached seventy songs across seven decades. How did the Daddy-Doo Band experience lay the groundwork for sustaining such prolific output in the years that followed?

For me personally, the Daddy-Doo Band and JustFolk were one continuous stream of consciousness.  The name changed, but it was the same musical spirit.  The songs flowed, 70 in 70 years, one after another.  It was only in the years 2019-2025 when songwriting began to feel a bit more forced.  I had to build songs around kernels of ideas, but the one-take wonder years were gone.

• Looking ahead, are you considering any live reinterpretations, expanded reissues, or new acoustic arrangements of Daddy-Doo Band material to introduce it to contemporary audiences?

My first song “Daddy-Doo” was recorded in 2003.  We went back and re-recorded an unplugged version in 2005: “Daddy-Doo Unplugged”.  The honest truth is that I am terrible in a live format.  I know my limitations.  And I’ll be 71 in July.  The time to hang it up is now.

• Beyond this archival release and your ongoing humanitarian commitments, what new musical projects or collaborative formats are you developing that build upon the community-focused spirit established during the Daddy-Doo Band years?

Now in my twilight years, I have taken to focusing on the music of others.  I recently purchased a second hand turntable and a tuner with tubes.  While I enjoy music from many different decades, my musical bedrock remains the albums released in 1970 during my most formative year at age 15: Cat Stevens, James Taylor, Elton John and Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young.

 

Compared to “Chemicals,” this one sits a little quieter in its approach, but the Moon Construction Kit fingerprints are all over it. The layered production, the vintage warmth, the way Cornu builds atmosphere from the inside out – it’s all present. The Elliott Smith and Father John Misty references make sense here more than they did on the previous single. The song earns its fairground-at-night description, and the Big Pharma mantra that closes it out lands with the unsettling feeling he was clearly going for.

One-man projects live and die by how intentional every decision sounds, and Cornu’s are. “Snake Charmer” is another solid entry in what’s quietly becoming an interesting catalog.