Review - James McMurtry - The Black Dog and The Wandering Boy

There are storytellers, and then there’s James McMurtry. McMurtry still spins gritty, character-driven tales that stick to your ribs, and this time, he’s digging into the hard truths of aging, memory, and regret on The Black Dog and the Wandering Boy.

Right out of the gate with “Laredo (Small Dark Something),” a Jon Dee Graham cover, McMurtry sets the tone. It’s a rough‑hewn rocker tracing the spiral of addiction, delivered with that unmistakable McMurtry grit: “Living in a motel named motel out on Refinery Road” paints a picture so vivid you can taste it.

Then comes “South Texas Lawman,” one of the record’s heartbreaking centerpieces. A fading sheriff, weighed down by regret and decades of dashed expectations, admits, “I can’t stand getting old, it don’t fit me.” McMurtry’s empathy is palpable…and devastating.

He returns to that theme again on the title track. Drawing from hallucinations his father experienced during dementia, McMurtry crafts an intimate portrait of a mind losing itself with terrifying calm.

“Pinocchio in Vegas” leans darkly comedic. “He’s had to learn to be an asshole just like everybody else”. It’s a wink, a laugh, a gut punch all at once.

And then there’s “Annie,” layered with Sarah Jarosz’s mournful banjo and vocal harmonies, a quiet meditation on post 9/11-era life. 

McMurtry has always snuck politics into his music without preaching, and “Sons of the Second Sons” is no different. A stripped-down history lesson and indictment rolled up into one.

Production wise, it’s a reunion with Don Dixon and the sound is steady and appropriately groovy. It rocks while remaining uncluttered, allowing the stories to breathe.

The Black Dog and the Wandering Boy isn’t just another McMurtry record, it’s a deeply lived in journey through weariness, mortality, and the traces we leave behind. It’s funny, it’s bleak, and it’s as real as anything he’s ever done.