Review Summary: I dance with a wrecking ball
For a long time, it was fashionable to draw sweeping comparisons of Matsson’s work to that of Bob Dylan. Indeed, it’s understandable that this was the case - just in time for the twilight of that famous bard’s career, along comes an upstart from Sweden (of all places), similarly gravel-voiced and enthralled by the mystic draw of America’s dusty folk tradition. With the years, these references seemed to dwindle, not just because it’s a little boring to reduce, over and over, an artist with his own style to an imitation of his genre’s most idolized paragon, but also because, album after album, The Tallest Man On Earth has evolved. While not even delving into the smattering of EPs and standalone singles which dot the Man’s oeuvre, the raw rusticity of
Shallow Grave became the also raw and rustic (but infinitesimally superior)
The Wild Hunt, which turned to the nocturnal murmurings of
There’s No Leaving Now, a transitional effort before Matsson turned over a new leaf with
Dark Bird Is Home, imbued with a more refined and comfortable sound, a sound which was mostly kept for
I Love You. It’s A Fever Dream, despite a partial return to the more sparse arrangements of earlier material. If that last sentence is a rambling mess, it’s simply because I’d like to emphasize that while most of Matsson’s songs could be reduced to “guy with a guitar”, he’s covered a lot of ground regardless. Looking back at The Tallest Man On Earth’s discography with a broad brush, it’s clear that there are two primary eras: the first three albums (albeit with
There’s No Leaving Now marking a tenuous shift) and the later two albums, with the former feeling more organic, concerned mostly with cosmic and natural themes, while the latter embraces more overt personal and romantic concerns. This is ultimately a simplification, as many of Matsson’s lyrical stylings have remained consistent throughout, and his writing is usually abstract enough to remain open to interpretation, but it seems entirely reasonable to discuss his output in this manner.
Against this backdrop, Matsson’s sixth full-length,
Henry St., stands apart from both eras. That may not be overly surprising - it’s been four years since the Swede’s last release (besides a 2022 covers album), and even though he’s tended to take his time between records (at least during the last ten years), not every album cycle includes an interim period where the artist finds himself (by his own admission) staunchly isolated and devoted to growing vegetables in his homeland while a once-in-a-century pandemic sweeps the world. Matsson attributes this time apart as reviving his passion for both writing music and performing, stating (about those two activities): “This is what I do. It’s unconditional”. The resulting material does have a link to his most recent two albums - notably, the lyrics often seem to share a certain indelible connection with those of
Dark Bird Is Home and
I Love You. It’s A Fever Dream, but it’s the differences which are most striking. Critically, this set of songs is The Tallest Man On Earth’s most vigorous and rollicking yet, reflecting their full-band recording approach. One can certainly argue that this style doesn’t emphasize Matsson’s finest attributes, but it undoubtedly results in an enjoyable outing which offers a glimpse at “another side of” the artist (oops, there go those Bob Dylan comparisons again).
That distinctiveness is quickly evident. Opener “Bless You” isn’t the most standout track here, but it features Matsson’s vocals sounding a little rawer than they’ve been on recent releases, and an outro of blaring horns which demonstrates that the soundscapes here often operate on a grander scale than we’re used to for this artist. “Looking For Love” and “Every Little Heart” immediately re-emphasize this point, with the former proving both jaunty and blissful, while the latter is a bundle of energy, carrying itself like an old-timey folk jig. Later on in the album’s first half, “Major League” embraces the banjo and sees Matsson’s long-running love affair with Americana in full bloom as references to topics like baseball and Cleveland (!) abound.
The title track proves a perfect centerpiece, a sparse and somber piano ballad which, besides being utterly gorgeous, turns out to be a lovely break between an unusually energetic first five songs and an unusually energetic last five songs. In the latter half, we find “In Your Garden Still”, full of bouncy rhythms, and “Goodbye”, which maintains a sense of groove despite its downcast nature. The penultimate “New Religion”, meanwhile, distinguishes itself with striking swells and dramatic singing from Matsson. Throughout, there’s plenty of sonic divergence from what you might expect from The Tallest Man On Earth, and if anything, it’s that diversity which ironically unites this record as a common thread.
Lyrically,
Henry St. hits the mark. Matsson is still who he’s always been, earnestly poetic, sometimes to-the-point and sometimes obscure. The overarching feel here, though, is of positivity. There’s not another album in Matsson’s catalog which expresses as much joy, or at least straining hope, as this one. Themes of pushing onward and striving for better are prevalent, and even when the lyrics turn darker, such as on “In Your Garden Still”, there’s an advocacy for the power of persistence as well. Mostly, the musing lines here tend to lean on Matsson’s most straightforward side, but the short and sparse closer “Foothills” manages to end the record on a beautifully cryptic note.
All in all,
Henry St. marks a triumphant return for The Tallest Man On Earth, as he once more emerges from the Swedish countryside to take the folk world by storm. This time, though, he’s got companions, leading to a fuller and richer sonic journey than ever before. Taken as a whole, I’d argue that this might be one of Matsson’s weaker collections of songs, but that’s less a complaint than an acknowledgement of how high the bar has been set by his previous body of work. There’s still an immense amount of enjoyment to be derived by tagging along for a tracklist full of Matsson’s inimitable storytelling, and
Henry St. manages to infuse that old pleasure with something new - a more vibrant and instrumentally varied palette. That prodigious height may be a myth, but this far into Matsson’s career, the vast majority of his peers in the contemporary folk scene are still looking up at him.
