Prescription to cure those follow-up blues, as it appeared in The News-Star on Sunday, Aug. 7, 1994. 　　 　　Wasted Lives and Bluegrass, Paul Sanchez, PSM. Folkie Paul Sanchez -- taking another holiday from his day job as a member of the great loud, kicking and screaming, punkabilly outfit Cowboy Mouth of New Orleans -- doesn't really retool for his second solo album. 　　Like Jet Black and Jealous, this record is an airy affair, done mostly solo on guitar. He ruminates on life and love, pain and passion. There's a lot of cigarette smoking and coffee drinking. 　　Yet, as with the previous LP, Sanchez just doesn't have a torrid album to offer. 　　This simple placidity of "Still in Love" and "I Dreamt" is his greatest strength. He's no folk protest singer in the mode of Seeger, Guthrie or Dylan; he's a lover not a fighter. 　　Strictly speaking, Sanchez has a voice that's a little too sweet for rock music too. It's almost Tim Pan Alley in its unforced naivity; almost showy in its easy world-weariness. 　　What Sanchez does to cure that on "Wasted Lives and Bluegrass" is bring in a harp player named John Herbert, which gives the proceedings a stern, honky tonk feel. 　　Those great tunes are not as bluesy as they are forcefully, happily hillbilly. They aren't however, the heart of the matter. (Neither, frankly, is the kind of funny "I Don't Wanna Rock 'n' Roll"). 　　It's those narrative, springy tunes he does alone. Sanchez -- call him a neo-Sammy Cahn, a scruffy Johnny Mercer -- writes lyrics in the most air-tight, unadorned way. 　　And at his most effective, those tunes are like pennies from heaven. 　　 　　Taken from Langniappe in The Times-Picayune, January 3, 1997. 　　 Sunday night at Carrollton Station, Paul Sanchez turned in a solo acoustic set full of warmth and humor. The setting was minimalist - a solitary figure with a black acoustic guitar perched on a stool on a tiny stage, alone except for quick guest turns by guitarist Chris Polachek and Better Than Ezra drummer Travis McNabb (who tapped out a beat on a guitar case). The appeal of a Sanchez set lies in his ability to deftly mix uproarious drink-and-sing-alongs like "You Used To Be A Friend of Mine (But I Can't Stand You Now") and "Irish Boy" with poignant little gems like "Wasted Lives and Bluegrass" and "Jet Black and Jealous" (the title tracks of his two stellar solo albums) that held the packed audience in rapt attention. His tender reading of the old Art Neville hit "All These Things" was a revelation, as was the new darkly seductive "Evil Can Be Lovely." Y'all think I'm doing you a favor, said a beaming Sanchez near the end of the three-hour set, when the audience still refused to let him leave. But you're doing me a favor.