McGill’s Street Ballads proves him to be a solid storyteller with imaginative connections, both to collective history and his own personal story.

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Champaign-Urbana native and current Chi-town resident Cameron McGill releases his second album, Street Ballads and Murderesques, this month. With comparisons to Jeff Buckley, Wilco, and Bob Dylan, McGill is bringing a fresh sound to alternative country/rock. McGill was not kidding when he stated at a recent gig that he had made an unapologetic ballad album (see title).

Following the acclaimed Stories of the Knife and the Back, McGill takes a much more introspective and deeper look at familiar topics of love, peace, loneliness, and fear. With his weary yet confident voice, McGill sounds like a seasoned musician at least twice his age. He is an honest singer-songwriter with a lot to say about the world. Street Ballads showcases McGill standing on his own two tired, traveling feet with harmonica, acoustic guitars, and sprinkles of piano in his bag. Talk about a raw, stripped to the bone sophomore album.

Street Ballads begins slowly and supplely with “When It Could Hurry.” Such lines as, “Thinking of my life now/even my failures are failing me but there’s patience in anxiety,” displays McGill’s talents as an experienced and talented lyricist. “Love’s Worst Day” is the standout on the album; live, it shines even more brightly. McGill beckons, “Come martyrs, teachers, and drawers of maps…/the good thing about evil is it don’t care who it hurts…/love’s worst day is always better than hate.” Backed by strong acoustic guitars and driving harmonica, McGill’s vocals soar above the music with a nice bridge. This ballad bares his soul for everyone to hear.

At various points in “Worry About a Thing” and other tunes on Street Ballads, McGill references Missouri billboards, farm towns, and railroad cars, giving the listener detailed images of the his Midwest roots. One can tell this troubadour has been traveling for a while and is ready for home. Meanwhile, “Dirty Green Jackets” invokes images of Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree. It speaks of growing old, losing those you care about along the way. McGill cleverly uses metaphors between relationships and fighting in WWII: “Well I can hold the line and I believe we’re pushing through.” On “It’s Not Right,” McGill admits, “So I married music like a fool/It’s cheated on me, darling.” This brings up an interesting dilemma: Can a musician be over-dedicated to his craft, losing sight of the people about whom he most cares?