Review Summary: Let the vibes flow.
To what extent Blue October resonates with an individual hinges almost entirely on the character of Justin Furstenfeld. The music is him, faults and triumphs included in equal measure, with a discography mapping out every episode, insecurity, doubt, failed relationship, and struggle for inner peace. He consistently exposes himself in the (in)famous lyrical passages of the group, gingerly riding a thin line between stunning poetry and “golly Justin, let’s edit some of these, eh?” But therein lies the charm: Furstenfeld can and will empty out whatever thoughts orbit his cranium regardless of their apparent immaturity. It’s what makes Blue October an achingly genuine project that can easily forge attachments to listeners; Justin speaks to life the unexpressed things that can clutter up consciousness, even if their phrasing lacks a certain grace. There’s no mystery to how Justin can pen a line like “Dropping little reels of tape to remind me that I’m alone / Playing movies in my head that make a porno feel like home” and escape unscathed; the audience accepts that it’s
him morosely singing about his crippling addictions and depression, not a stage persona. Another Blue October album means another turning of the page, another artistic shift to match the transitioning moods of Furstenfeld. This particular next chapter coming in the form of a double-album is an unexpected phenomenon—a phenomenon worthy of the usual double-album cautionary eye rolls—yet it perfectly captures the mindset of a restless Justin wanting to create as much music as possible in a post-lockdown world. The first half of
Spinning the Truth Around is a powerful new statement from a seasoned band, and one that sees them boldly exploring novel territory. Any preconceived worries are subdued by an LP willing to take risks with the collective’s trademark vulnerability.
Since the days of
Sway, Justin and Co. have flirted with atmosphere, reconfiguring their focus onto delicate, moody textures as opposed to the indie and grunge-tinged rockers of yesteryear.
Part I is a complete plunge into blissful ambiance, with the bulk of the album’s twelve-song duration featuring an emphasis on post-rock-esque tactics and serene instrumental timbres. The selling point on a song like “The Shape of Your Heart” lies not in a bombastic crescendo, but in a soothing arrangement that capitalizes on minimalism, developing a strong central concept that nails a wistful vibe to precision. It’s a beautifully understated adventure that pairs Justin’s sorrowful baritone with soothing chords, with both elements combining in an elegantly melancholic refrain. This same methodology spills over into the successive “How Can You Love Me If You Don’t Even like Me,” employing a restrained composition decorated by electrical ambiance, piano keys, and the omnipresent grooves of Matt Novesky’s bass. Combined with a smooth production job that accommodates for every contributing member, the tune blossoms into an ethereal landscape, drifting peacefully as Justin’s voice weaves through the verses. In certain cases—most notably the near-instrumental “Kitchen Drawer”—the post-rock backdrop of the record transitions to the forefront, opting to orchestrate a careful buildup that culminates in an explosion of guitars and crashing drums. The keys of Ryan Delahoussaye again find a key purpose in providing additional emotional payoffs to tracks, creating space for songs to breathe and develop. His violin remains a lasting fixture of the band, infusing a tinge of melancholy that encompasses the Blue October sound through every era.
The increased attention towards leisurelier, pensive numbers plays into the Houston gang’s dedication towards a front-to-back album experience. It’s an art they perfected on previous release
This is What I Live For, what with its impeccable balancing act of ballads, pop-rock bangers and slow-burners concentrated on atmosphere. Though the peaks are minimized in comparison,
Part I exhibits an impressive flow between concert-ready rockers and the mood-centric outings that have now attained a greater prominence. The introductory salvo of numbers bleeds into the anthemic “Don’t Say it Wasn’t Love,” allowing poppy variables to flourish until the latter “Kitchen Drawer” redirects the momentum to the opposite direction. The second portion of
Part I in particular achieves this dichotomy excellently, often through taking significant risks. Chief among them is album centerpiece “When Love Isn’t Good Enough” and it’s comparatively titanic 7-minute length. Justin navigates through an ominous, noir-inspired setting, adopting a growling bass voice as dark chords drone in the background. Emerging from the foreboding environment is an honest-to-goodness professional opera vocalist singing in French. What appears at first a jarring inclusion seamlessly blends into the rising intensity of the track, meshing impeccably with the pounding drums, eventually reaching a cathartic explosion where the opera vocals hit a resonating baritone note that climbs above the rampaging instrumental assault. Travel along a bit further and the equally lengthy “The Girl Who Stole My Heart” enters the scene to construct another impressive pinnacle. Much of the tune’s success is grounded in its powerful refrain, with Justin’s charismatic belts combining with longing, Christmas-like chimes to portray a passionate sensation of longing.
The variety of tactics on display allows
Part I to retain a high amount of memorability. Beyond the post-rock-styled antics of “When Love Isn’t Good Enough” and similar songs, the band delivers plenty of singles to dance along to, ranging from the suave “Change” and its scratchy lead riff to the bouncy, easygoing “Where Did You Go I’m Less of a Mess These Days.” Lyrically and vocally, Furstenfeld is capable of blending into proceedings easily, imbuing individual tracks with distinguishable personalities. For the purposes of the former example, Justin lets his lurking RnB influences take control, conducting layered harmonies that range from a mumbling bass to a resounding tenor falsetto, while the latter skips through sugar-sweet instrumentation and predictably overly-honest verses, such as the
gem that is “We're sittin' talkin' 'bout how good all the sex is / Yeah, 'cause it was bad with our exes.” Realistically, no writer worth their salt should be able to survive penning such a line—yet Justin can, on condition that the audience detects the pain in his voice that lurks subtly in his playful recollections. Those same thoughts can delve into a vulnerable falsetto in “Is she giving me a paperback book / On how to have a better outlook / And ways for moving on from the part of me that she took?” off of “The Girl Who Stole My Heart,” and similarly take the form of remorseful baritone notes in the chorus of “The Shape of Your Heart”:
“We take the one we think we deserve
And slowly try to make it all work
Hurting you the way I was hurt
And every time we waste, it falls apart
Busy outlining the shape of your heart
To try to makе this work of art”
It’s no Shakespeare, for anyone concerned. But Furstenfeld has a way of delivering cheesy, dead-on-arrival lines as if they were gospel, syncing his vocal approach to match the overarching atmosphere of any tune. The heightened presence of autotune throughout
Part I in this context is a curious inclusion—Justin throughout the years has reliably clocked in a soulful, wide-ranging vocal performance that has yet to show age—and it can occasionally distract from the music due to its prominence. Its appearance isn’t a total wash because of how its dreamy tone accentuates the serene production, though it can be difficult to ignore on certain tracks. On a record featuring tight pacing and concise arrangements, it’s one of the few blemishes to uncover.
Regardless of smaller complaints, the overall quality of
Spinning the Truth Around, Part I is something of a triumph. Despite being active since the late 90s in some shape or form, Blue October are evidently dedicated to continuously redefining their approach to music, though never to the extent to where their roots vanish in the process. This is still the same collage of emotional dilemmas and uplifting realizations that has served as the group’s bedrock for decades. Justin unflinchingly leaves himself bare in the spotlight once more, unburdening himself of anything the preceding calendar years tacked on to his conscious, and performing it in that tried-and-true painful honesty that, while enough to make one wince, carries an immense amount of sincerity. It’s undoubtedly the most reserved the Texas collective has been since their bygone debut, but by scaling back proceedings to a considerable degree, the gang uncovered an incredibly rewarding, atmospheric approach. The jury’s out on whether or not the ensuing
Part II will possess similar surprises and preserve the remarkable reliability of Blue October’s discography, though this is certainly a promising step forward. Opting for a double album now seems less of a hindrance; it’s the best avenue through which the Houston outlet can expend their burgeoning creativity. Justin and friends have an entirely new well to draw inspiration from that can successfully position their sound in an engaging new manner. Further change may come, but that loveable core identity of the band—the heart of Furstenfeld and whatever thoughts come from it—remains the unwavering impetus of the band, and the emotional bedrock that listeners find comfort in.
