Review Summary: Remember when our songs were just like prayers
At this point, Gregory Alan Isakov is a known quality, at least in certain circles. From an early childhood in South Africa, to a move to the USA with his family, to slowly rising to prominence through self-released albums showcasing a dusty and archaic Western vibe and simple but profound lyricism, he’s now pretty close to the top of the pecking order in the recent folk landscape. The thing that’s always captivated me is that Isakov is simultaneously a mainstay of the folky side of coffee shop playlists, his ornate arrangements and delicate delivery lending ample pop appeal, and a literal farmer in Colorado (when he’s not on tour), providing credibility to the sweat-soaked “home on the range” mood of much of his musical output. While the fanbase may be mostly busy sipping lattes, Isakov’s records tend to be best suited to road tripping on a wide-open Western highway, looking out a whole lot of sagebrush and a big swath of sky. It’s hard to imagine a more perfect amalgam of traditional and contemporary trends in the folk genre.
If I don’t find any of Isakov’s albums thus far to be indisputable classics, his quality level has still been rather remarkable. It’s unlikely he’ll ever top the monumental
This Empty Northern Hemisphere, but he’s also never released an album which proved less than great. 2018’s
Evening Machines, though, has always been a bit of a weak link for me. Whether it is the unusually “busy” arrangements or just a relative dearth of top-tier Isakov songs which is the primary culprit is hard to pin down, but ultimately that album feels like a marked step down from the singer-songwriter’s typical output, and a troubling sign of things to come. It’s a bit comforting, then, that the artist himself appears to have intentionally self-corrected, with Isakov describing
Appaloosa Bones as an attempt to “go backward” and sculpt a more “bare bones” record, one more aligned with some of his earlier material - music to the ears of this reviewer.
Opener “The Fall” is ironic, then, in two ways. First, it’s a richly textured piece, far from Isakov’s referenced approach from the last sentence (even if most of the other tunes do follow a more stripped-down approach). Second, my gripes about
Evening Machines having a bit
too much going on, distracting from Isakov’s compelling voice and thoughtful lyrics, do not apply here - this is a beaut of a song, featuring a gorgeous arrangement, tasteful melodies, and a wonderful vocal performance (including some spoken parts). While it’s not really representative of the rest of the album at all, it’s nonetheless a great starting point. From there,
Appaloosa Bones rolls on. To recycle a thought from the review’s first paragraph, this album shares comparable drawbacks and joys to a road trip out west - the pace might feel slow and the scenery might vary little, but there’s a lot of beauty to be found. “Before the Sun” sees Isakov break out the banjo and deliver an energetic performance, but most tunes here are rather low-tempo and muted, particularly in the second half with tracks like “Terlingua” and “Mistakes”, the former with a moody cowboy vibe and the latter as a sparse piano-led tune. Meanwhile, penultimate track “Sweet Heat Lightning” summons that vintage Isakov magic to go straight for the heart (a good thing, for the album’s longest song), and “Feed Your Horses” is a textbook closer, simple and earnest.
More hard-hearted listeners can dismiss
Appaloosa Bones as Gregory Alan Isakov by-the-numbers. Five years after
Evening Machines, the follow-up has indeed moved in a more unvarnished and subdued direction, and the results feel a bit more like a retreat than a progression. Even worse, there’s only a few songs here which are obvious choices to make the cut as top-tier Isakov creations - “The Fall” and “Sweet Heat Lightning” being the prime contenders. However, this gifted artist is just that: gifted. Isakov is the kind of singer-songwriter who can carry not just a song, but an album, and
Appaloosa Bones is no exception, even if it doesn’t match
That Empty Northern Hemisphere or even
That Sea, The Gambler in terms of pumping out batches of all-time folk stunners. The eleven songs here are well-articulated, gorgeously atmospheric, and brought to life through the somber tones of Isakov’s striking voice. The leadoff single for this album cycle might lament that “
we all break a little when we fall”, but
Appaloosa Bones demonstrates that Gregory Alan Isakov remains standing as an essential voice in the folk scene.
