Review Summary: The sound of jealousy.
Its blindingly clear. The first thing you notice when Damien walks on stage to start his show. In that instant the threads of pretense are gone and you realize what this is. This is no longer an experience, its an ritualistic event. Do you know the closer you travel to the speed light the slower that time passes. This concert must be taking place on the Millennium Falcon during the Kessel run. Hopefully your beer stays cold and no one complains about your cigarette cause the possibility of you moving from your spot is non existent. Can you actually see the dust particles glowing in the air? There haven’t been many moments in your life when you were subconsciously stuck in place. Seeing headlights approaching you on an icy road, teenage love back when you still had feelings, watching friends in Iraq lose their battles in the medical tent.
For an artist like Damien Jurado who has been around so long and amassed a respectable back catalogue you can start to categorize his career into different stages. As opposed to his current obsession with the Freudian wet dream of finding your place in the universe, back in the day Jurado’s bread and butter was severe introspection. Mostly dealing with death, unfaithfulness and loss which as you can imagine would get very dark. This album is somewhat in the middle of those two arenas and veers either way depending on the song.
So mother, burn my body
for fuel
Redemption comes in many forms even as the last wish of a murderer who wants to leave the world by providing a little heat for the only one that still loves him. Ponder that for a minute.
i woke up this morning
with Death at my window, singing.
come out, come with me,
it's friendship that i seek,
Mined are the vast caverns of the tortured marriages for a somber album closer.
Jurado’s music always comes down simply to voice and guitar. That is the skeleton for all of his songs. On his records he often expands the sound with lots of different instrumentation. However on tour most of the time its just him with a guitar in front of a silent, dimly lit, packed room. Usually in a warehouse somewhere.
Being a weaver of intimate stories played on a six string can lead to a few misconceptions, but try not to imagine Damian as the sensitive man crying into his beer at the bar. He would be the guy who doesn't suffer fools and may want to break a bottle over the head of the first person who attempts irrelevant small talk.
With both eyes closed I blew out his windows
A cheap shot I know but someone had to do it
...He's not our kind, he's not your type
This record has always been one of my favorites. It captures the mood of the northwestern united states in a way few records have, and even includes a few Seattle references. The songwriting as always is the main aspect of the album and is beautifully executed. Each song is its own drive by story. Don’t ever expect happy endings and enjoy this for what it is; something to be experienced on a cloudy day.
