Review Summary: There was a time each song was new, and now we're stuck here on rewind
Whenever I try to describe
Sometimes You Hurt the Ones You Hate or give it a label, one word prevails in my mind:
sentimental. Indie veteran Damien Jurado has conjured up a lovely collection of wistful folk rock pieces, filled with tender acoustic passages and nostalgic lo-fi orchestrations. And honestly, given how long Jurado’s been in the business, he’s certainly earned the right to get a little sentimental; the dude’s been grinding for almost 30 years now, with every record approaching his signature brand of indie rock from a slightly different angle than the last. But, no matter what themes or emotions Jurado tackles with each effort, there’s one persistent truism regarding his work: that he’s one hell of a storyteller, and knows how to wring every drop of emotion out of the stories he tells.
With that said, it’s worth noting that the first track of
Sometimes… is deceptively upbeat and catchy compared to the majority of the record; “James Hoskins” bursts out of the gate with dynamic drum rolls before launching into propulsive, energetic synth-led verses. It’s difficult to parse out what the lyrics are actually about, but Jurado has the distinct ability to incite drama and curiosity through his smooth-yet-urgent vocal stylings. In any case, there’s a lot to love about this opening tune – despite the fact that, as I noted earlier, it’s not too indicative of the rest of the record. The real strength of
Sometimes… lies in the soft, tender cuts I alluded to before; songs like “A Lover, a Balcony Fire, an Empty Orchestra”, “Neiman Marcus”, and “A Buildings Kind of Building” benefit from using a minimalist acoustic setup, allowing each tale to develop naturally through detailed lyricism and/or subtle string swells.
In fact, if there’s anyone these songs remind me of, it’s the “baroque” era of Nick Drake – a.k.a.,
Five Leaves Left and
Bryter Layter Nick Drake. It’s not a perfect comparison, as Jurado draws a lot more from modern indie folk tropes and sounds; moreso, I’m referring to the way he can let his stripped-down acoustic guitar chords mingle and intertwine with lovely orchestrations. That, and the fact that his voice is just the right amount of “understated” while still retaining a mysterious, almost unexplainable allure. That last part is probably why Jurado can get away with crafting shockingly simple tunes from time to time, such as the aforementioned “A Buildings Kind of Building” or a good chunk of “In a Way Probably Never” – the latter of which is quite close to Neutral Milk Hotel’s “In the Aeroplane Over the Sea” in chord progression and rhythm. But whether Jurado is creating a quaint little acoustic number or a more richly-orchestrated piece, his charmingly unassuming vocals and intricate lyricism ensure that he’ll make the song interesting regardless.
That’s not to say that everything is perfect about
Sometimes…; the record is extremely short by Jurado’s standards, clocking in at a mere 22 minutes. It almost comes off as an appetizer for his next record, rather than a full-fledged LP in its own right – something that only becomes more apparent when considering how short most of these songs are. I suppose it’s a compliment that I’m left wanting more, but I simply wish that the beautiful soundscapes of “A Lover, a Balcony Fire, an Empty Orchestra” and “Mr. Frank Dell” could go on for double their respective track-lengths. Still, what’s here is utterly fantastic, and a prime example of how powerful modern folk music can be when put in the right hands. Jurado has put a lot of blood, sweat, and tears into his extensive solo career, and
Sometimes… is yet another feather in his cap.
