Stripped. Bare. Down to the essence, the bones, the soul. Being stripped so naked is bravery, a revelation, a reckoning. If you take everything away, sometimes you lose the sinew, the core, and the soul of the song. Not so with the music of Richard Inman.
Perhaps he learned to fillet ideas for songs as a kid, riding in his father’s car back from church in his home in Grunthal, Manitoba, listening to ghostly radio floating in from Portage la Prairie with Johnny Cash and George Jones on the radio. He wrote his first songs, bare country, in his teens, then detoured into the popular “indie” sounds of the day, before finding his North Star in simplicity again. Like Cash and Jones, Inman whittles down the story, the moment, making more room for bare truth to shine. It’s a courageous way to write, no gimmicks, no flash, walking through lean Townes to meet a Guy near the place your visions lead you.
Inman ain’t no writer of fancy words, nor of fancy tunes. Those things hide – hide from us, hide you from me and me from you. Instead, we look each other in the eye through his songs. A bit of guitar, a bit of slide, a few ghosts shadowing us along the never ending highway, authenticity painting the yellow lines between those coming and going.
So take a journey with Inman, serenaded by naked song. Don’t be afraid; open yourself to this exposure – your goosebumps will give rise to sweet revelations laid open before you.
Biography by Mary-Lynn Wardle