Review Summary: It's dirty laundry, it's empty styrofoam.
When a record speaks for itself (as art rightfully should), a description with words seems futile, doomed to failure, even downright impossible- but an album as poignant as
Wheel demands recognition.
For anyone who has listened to a large amount of music, regardless of genre, cynicism can begin to rule the ear, making the slightest flaws of a track stand out disproportionately to their actual significance. It should be expected, after all, that in an age of media-saturation, ideas are reused, recycled, and consumed at a rate higher than ever before.
Against the odds,
Wheel exudes ingenuity effortlessly. Each track flows, some tumultuously, others calmly. The emotional discourse can be so palpable at times that the listener has little choice but to be pulled along.
The essence of
Wheel shines through each verse, undiluted by pretention or aspiration. It even lacks eagerness, and the absence of which makes space for a sense of patience. Like the title suggests, everything comes around, and with subsequent listens,
Wheel only gets better.
