In case you missed this yesterday, I’m putting out a new full length album in 2 weeks on May 24th. Read about it here and follow this blog for more of my music:
MY NEW ALBUM DROPS ON MAY 24th 2013, TWO WEEKS FROM TODAY.
As you probably know by now, it’s called Could Be Bitter Forever. That’s the thematically appropriate, self-absorbed cover art above. It will be available to stream and download on my BANDCAMP PAGE for FREE online at MIDNIGHT on 5/24. My band and I recorded it over the past four months at The Mannor in Wallingford, Connecticut with Ian Bates of Manners. I’m incredibly proud of how well this album turned out, and I look forward to hearing what you all think about it.
In addition to my contributions as songwriter, the record features a host of supplementary musicians and vocalists including some of my best friends. Could Be Bitter Forever is by far the most ambitious art project I have ever taken on, and it sounds better to me than I could have possibly expected, thanks largely to the work of the incredibly talented people who helped me make it. Check out the tracklist below and please reblog!
Could Be Bitter Forever (58:31) — out 5/24/13
TRACKLIST:
- 1. “Improved Resolutions” (5:59)
- 2. “Plans For The Future” (2:03)
- 3. “A Published Author” (2:43)
- 4. “The Benefits Do Not Outweigh The Detriments” (3:21)
- 5. “Circulation” (7:27)
- 6. “I Learned To Be Alive In January” (3:47)
- 7. “No Exception” (7:41)
- 8. “Could Be Bitter Forever” (9:58)
- 9. “The Western Face” (4:54)
- 10. “Driving To The Hospital” (5:32)
- 11. “New You” (5:13)
Junip - “Line of Fire”
It was prescient that Swedish singer/songwriter Jose Gonzales rose to prominence initially with his heartbroken acoustic cover of The Knife’s bittersweet dance anthem “Heartbeats” back in 2006. Both with his solo project, and more directly with his band Junip, Gonzales makes folk music the way that DJs make electronic music. He has a knack for replicating the evocative crescendos and decrescendos that characterize the technic thump of house and trance, and although Gonzales’ medium is considerably more of-the-earth, the dynamic sensibilities of his rhythmic folk invoke the same kind of synthetic energy with which the best turntablists build their careers.
Junip’s latest single “Line of Fire” — off their forthcoming self-titled LP — aims for something more grand than the yacht-rock informed sublimity that defined their 2010 record Fields. Yet, like Gonzales himself, this song also begins from humble origins. Gonzales’ Spanish guitar and mellow organ pads lure the listener in, establishing a subdued base line from which the track can slowly build into its remarkable climax.
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Stream “Line of Fire” above and download it via Soundcloud. Junip is out April 23rd via Mute Records.
Chris Cappello - “Evergreen (December Forest Fire)”
It’s snowing here in Connecticut for the first time since the day I released my new EP December Forest Fire on Christmas day. This song fits the mood pretty nicely. Stream it above and download the whole EP for free HERE.
Download my new EP december forest fire for free at my bandcamp page!! it has three songs, one of which is 3 minutes, one of which is 5 minutes, and one of which is about 7 and a half minutes. The title track is sort of winter/christmas themed. it’s all really miserable bullshit. tracklist and stuff below. Enjoy!
1. “Evergreen (December Forest Fire)”
2. “Your Eyes Still Illuminate The Night”
3. “Song For The Girl Who Didn’t Die”
everybody take a moment and listen to this
Sorry for reposting this again but I just listened to this in full for the first time since I put it out the other day and it made me tear up a little, not because I’m proud of it or anything, but just because it’s really sad. Maybe that means I should be proud of it, because ‘sad’ was definitely what I was going for.
Anyway, please listen to this if you’re interested in the music I make. Otherwise, carry on.
Download my new EP december forest fire for free at my bandcamp page!! it has three songs, one of which is 3 minutes, one of which is 5 minutes, and one of which is about 7 and a half minutes. The title track is sort of winter/christmas themed. it’s all really miserable bullshit. tracklist and stuff below. Enjoy!
1. “Evergreen (December Forest Fire)”
2. “Your Eyes Still Illuminate The Night”
3. “Song For The Girl Who Didn’t Die”
Download this and have a sad Christmas.
For those of you who don’t follow my blog for my own music, I released a little winter-themed EP today for the holidays. It’s not exactly christmas-y but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Give it a listen here:
merry christmas!!
Stream: Elvis Depressedly - Hotter Sadness (2012)
Fresh off the heels of his rather excellent album Mickey’s Dead, Coma Cinema frontman Mat Cothran (aka Elvis Depressedly) just dropped his second album of 2012. The record is called Hotter Sadness, and it features a mix of acoustic/electronic instrumentation and miserable, hopeless lyrics that should be familiar to any fan of either of his projects.
After the relativel clear-sounding Mickey’s Dead, Hotter Sadness sounds considerably more lo-fi, which Cothran attributes to a loss of his recording material. In an album stream post via Portals, Cothran issued the following statement:
“I’ve spent the last year surviving, going from one bad home life to another, arriving every time exhausted, hiding from disaster only to invite it inside once I get too comfortable.
Maybe that’s why all my recording gear is fucked? All this aimless, alcoholic free-wheelin’ psychic slavery. All this petty judgement day dreamin’ away a life sentence.
I was born on May 22, 1988. The album cover is me, on that date.
I know this album doesn’t sound the way a lot of people might want it to. I did my best to work through the limitations because I have to write songs, I don’t know what else there is.
The world is a bleak and beautiful being. It knows you, and knows what you need, all you have to do is ask.”
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Stream the ramshackle Hotter Sadness above via Portals Music. Hotter Sadness is officially out tomorrow on Elvis Depressedly’s bandcamp page.
Stream/Download: Madeliene - Adieu EP (2012)
Madeliene is a collaborative project between vocalist Michi Tassey and songwriter Cameron Boucher, who fronts the popular emo revival band Old Gray. Despite the relatively high profile of Boucher’s main group, I can’t help but worry that this collaboration might slip through the cracks or fail to show up on many people’s radar. It’s simply too sweet, too gentle to announce its presence with anything more than quiet, graceful repose.
Thankfully, because of these qualities, Madeliene’s music thoroughly rewards intensive listening. The duo’s debut EP Adieu, released earlier this month, is a breezy 15 minutes of soothing indie folk, displaying Tassey’s delightfully versatile vocals over lush, harmonizing guitars. The release benefits from some solid production, handled by Boucher himself, which melds twinkling pianos and electric guitar swells into the acoustic mix. The bouncy album highlight “Valley Street (Hepsabeth Dudley, 1854)” features a perfectly placed woodwind solo that accentuates Tassey’s skipping vocal melody, while “Je Suis Partir” features extensive vocal layering that evokes Bon Iver. Perhaps the album’s most singular track is “Hartford,” which appeared in a stripped down form on Boucher’s solo EP Set Sail Towards Hell back in April. Madeliene’s version handily outclasses the original, largely thanks to Tassey and Boucher’s complimentary harmonies. All throughout the EP, the songwriting and lyricism stand out for its evocative imagery and central focus on the theme of leaving. I’m not sure what the future holds for this collaboration, but here’s hoping that they stick around for some time.
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Stream Adieu above and download it for free via Bandcamp.
Waxahatchee - American Weekend (2012)
Whenever a beloved band breaks up, embittered fans look to the inevitable post-breakup solo record to fill the void that the band’s absence has created. Often, such solo records pale in comparison to the albums made when the band was together, or seem too inconsequential to amount to more than tossed off experimentation. In rare cases, however, that yearned-for solo record turns out better than anything the band could have made collectively.
When the delightfully nostalgic punk band P.S. Eliot broke up last year, frontwoman Katie Crutchfield quietly began recording solo acoustic work under the pen name Waxahatchee, which refers to a creek in her home state of Alabama that appears in some of her songs. The resulting album, recorded in the dead of winter in Crutchfield’s bedroom and released earlier this year, is among 2012’s most evocative and emotional singer/songwriter debuts. Entitled American Weekend, this album calmly and gracefully eclipses everything that Crutchfield’s old band made during their four year tenure.
American Weekend is the kind of drastically wounded breakup album that could only have been made by a solo artist, and although being alone may not be healthy for Crutchfield herself, it certainly benefits her music. Despite American Weekend’s lo-fi, home-recorded scrim, Crutchfield’s voice resonates boundlessly, cutting through the messy mix like a vein of meltwater through a glacier. Meanwhile, her punchy guitar strums take on a percussive quality that evokes the early chord-pounding of John Darnielle. Although one can draw stylistic parallels between American Weekend and The Mountain Goats’ early tape recordings, Waxahatchee’s lyrical subject matter is notably more personal than Darnielle’s.
“We stick to our slow motion memory,” Crutchfield sings with a sigh on the opening track “Catfish.” On other songs, she’s more blunt — “Take my word for it / I’m not worth it” she admits on “Bathtub.” Throughout most of the record, the lyrics are focused on the past. Crutchfield divulges tales of past romances, failed relationships, summer trips to Waxahatchee Creek, and an allegorical story of a 15 year old bride (“Rose, 1956”) with shocking personal openness, and somehow remains graceful and largely composed throughout the record. Her recounting of this “slow motion memory” is nothing short of heartbreaking, and on the album’s title track, it reaches its most feel-worthy: “You’re a figment,” she sings with a cracked hint of bittersweet nostalgia “I believed it.”
Because of the thoroughly miserable landscape painting of her past that Crutchfield paints for the listener, American Weekend becomes even more bleak when it looks into the present and future. Crutchfield conveys herself like a close friend whom you want to take out one night, but she doesn’t want to go because she knows based on her past experience that she won’t have a good time. On the double-edged aloneness anthem “Grass Stain,” she admits that she doesn’t care about her ex, but slowly finds herself being drawn in again as she contemplates the ways in which she will attempt to make herself feel better. On the catchy highlight “Be Good,” one of the rare songs on the album that features percussion, she imagines a romantic encounter and almost pines for it, before asserting to herself that it’s “probably for the best” that she is alone. In terms of capturing the utter emotional deadness that results after a traumatic breakup, American Weekend handily surpasses even Sharon Van Etten’s excellent and similarly-themed Tramp.
After the previous ten tracks of hushed singing, mournful guitar playing and lyrics that read like pages torn from a tear-stained old diary, the jaunty piano closer “Noccalula” feels out of place, at least musically. And yet, like The Velvet Underground’s 1969 album closer “After Hours,” American Weekend’s closing track reaffirms just how crushing the rest of the album is through simple juxtaposition. On a brighter note, it does offer a faint glimmer of hope for the otherwise morose LP. “I’m going to New York,” she declares, “And I’ll be much better there, or that’s what I’m hoping for.” There is doubt in her voice, but there is hope in those words. Whether we should take her word for it remains to be seen, but the story of Waxahatchee has yet to be completed.
8/10
Key Tracks: “Catfish”, “Grass Stain”, “Be Good”
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American Weekend is out now on Don Giovanni Records. Watch the arresting black & white video for “Grass Stain” below:
Elison Jackson - I Do Believe She Flew Out The Drainpipe EP (2012)
Stream: “Man From Lowell”
Before I begin giving this album, the new EP from the Connecticut folk rockers Elison Jackson, the praise that it undoubtedly deserves, I should be clear about a potential conflict of interests. In my past year of writing and recording my own music, I have played numerous shows with Elison Jackson, in basements and apartment venues throughout Connecticut. I’ve gotten to know frontman Sam Perduta very well, and I look to him as a very inspirational figure in the Connecticut music scene for my own songwriting.
That said, I do have a critical responsibility to be as objective as possible when it comes to reviewing new music. This blog has been popular enough for some time now that I can no longer post about all my friends’ music and pass it off like it’s the best thing I’ve ever heard. Still, every once in a while a band comes along here in the Nutmeg state that truly wows me, inspires me, or otherwise impresses me enough to warrant positive press. Elison Jackson has for some time been my latest local obsession, and with their new EP I Do Believe She Flew Out The Drainpipe, they are poised to actualize the potential that I have witnessed them approach at so many packed basement shows in New Haven.
For years now, Elison Jackson has been a perpetually shapeshifting beast, having started out as an acoustic solo project for Perduta. I Do Believe She Flew Out The Drainpipe finds the band in its most expansive and tightest form yet, playing with a raw live energy that is supplemented by some lush overdubbed instrumentation. It begins with “Man From Lowell,” a five-minute track that, by the time its pining chorus kicks in for the first time, easily surpasses anything that the band has done before. “Man From Lowell” is as good a folk rock anthem as nearly any that I have heard before, drawing from Bob Dylan and Neil Young’s lyricism while evoking Simon & Garfunkel’s soothing guitar atmospheres with its gentle acoustic picking. The track builds on a steady shuffle beat with upright bass and electric guitar until it erupts into a thoroughly sing along-able chorus replete with multi-tracked vocal harmonies, keyboards, and a triumphant horn melody. The trumpet is used so pristinely on this track that I can’t help but sigh wistfully every time I hear it; much like the horns in Love’s classic Forever Changes opener “Alone Again Or,” the trumpet part on “Man From Lowell” simply carries the song into another dimension of quality.
Along with subsequent tracks like the slow blues dirge “Burned” and the bittersweet hometown paean “New Britain,” the clear standout track “Man From Lowell” takes much of its sonic influence from the 1960s. The production on these tracks is dirty and slightly lo-fi, and although I occasionally wish the sound in my headphones came through more clearly, the effect definitely affirms the 1960s vintage vibe. Along with the improved songwriting, what sets The Drainpipe apart from Elison Jackson’s previous work, particularly their ramshackle 2011 full length Spectral Evidence, is the experimental edge that rounds out this EP. “Parking Lot” and the 6-minute “Family Vacation” are shockingly dark and psychedelic, owing as much to early progressive rock as they do Highway 61-era Dylan. With its haunted-house hammond organ, choir-like vocals, and reverb-heavy guitar riffage, “Family Vacation” ends the 23-minute record on a particularly crushing high note.
I Do Believe She Flew Out The Drainpipe does not feel like the end of Elison Jackson’s story, nor should it. Rather, this EP seems to hint at a directional shift for the band, as they grow in prominence and become even more of a powerful live unit. The styles represented on The Drainpipe are diverse, and the band never commits fully to any of them, which might be my biggest criticism of the EP. That said, I am confident that with an enhanced focus and dedication to a particular style in the complicated and expansive realm of folk music, Elison Jackson could do something incredible on their next release. Until then, The Drainpipe does more than just suffice; it excites and whets the palate in a thoroughly fulfilling way.
7/10
Key Tracks: “Man From Lowell”, “Family Vacation”
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I Do Believe She Flew Out The Drainpipe will be released on vinyl by the Telegraph Recording Company. Its release was funded via Kickstarter.
Jens Lekman - I Know What Love Isn’t (2012)
There is a peculiar, metaphysical irony in the title of Jens Lekman’s latest album. In the most basic sense, I Know What Love Isn’t is an ironic title because it is an album that is thoroughly concerned with love. In truth, listening to this record over the past month has given me a fairly good sense of exactly what love is, along with the extensive desperation and hopelessness that comes when such a feeling reaches its end. But on a deeper level, calling this album “I Know What Love Isn’t” was an ironic move because this album simply, unequivocally, and unrelentingly begets love. Much like Jens Lekman himself, I Know What Love Isn’t is almost ceaselessly lovable.
Indeed, this album owes much of its appeal to Lekman’s persona, as expressed in his writing and songcraft. The Swedish singer/songwriter has spent the majority of the past 12 years honing his abilities as one of indie pop’s greatest balancing acts. He’s an heir to the musical throne of Jonathan Richman, Morrissey, and Stephin Merritt, whose tremendously overbearing sadness is matched only by their penchant for sarcastic humor and irony. Much like his forebears, Lekman’s ability to balance these two qualities so dexterously makes him irresistible to me as both a songwriter and simply as an individual. I’m not sure whether I love him or his music more.
I Know What Love Isn’t is Lekman’s third and most coherent LP, although it is neither his most endearing nor his most ambitious. It is occasionally calm, though frequently charged, and full of rich but relatively smoothed-out instrumental arrangements, featuring light woodwinds and horns, strings, spanish guitar, and drums, along with Lekman’s airy baritone vocals. Lekman himself calls it a breakup record, which is appropriate, although the album is not entirely the sullen mopefest that most records bearing the ‘breakup’ tag tend to be. Instead, it is a thorough and extensive analysis of the end of a very specific and personal relationship, expressed in a variety of musical styles through Lekman’s trademark storytelling lyrics. In the breezy 38 minute runtime, Lekman hits all the necessary marks, from nostalgic sentimentalizing (“Erica America”) to lonely pining (“I Want A Pair Of Cowboy Boots”), denial (“Some Dandruff On Your Shoulder”) and eventually acceptance. “She Just Don’t Want To Be With You Anymore” and “Every Little Hair Knows Your Name” deal particularly heavily in the latter.
All of those songs are great, but what sets I Know What Love Isn’t apart lies beyond common breakup album tropes. Lekman’s goal may merely be self-validation, but what he accomplishes on this record is much bigger. In a recent video for Pitchfork, Lekman said that his favorite breakup records are those which acknowledge that “It’s shit now, and it’s going to suck even worse, but we’re in this together.” Amidst personal anecdotes and bouts of self-loathing, a feeling of understanding and togetherness is what this album brings. It calls upon the listener like a truly good friend, not to commiserate, but to get up and move on.
Although most of the touching, sad, and funny moments on the album occur when Lekman is in full on storytelling mode, such as when he describes his desire to marry his best friend in Melbourne “only for the citizenship” on the wonderfully jaunty title track, Lekman also occasionally deals in profundities. With the added padding of his storytelling as evidential support, Lekman’s profound statements — which often occupy the choruses of the songs on I Know What Love Isn’t — pack an exceptional punch. The album climaxes with the sweeping eighth track, “The End Of The World Is Bigger Than Love,” which begins as a desperate plea for explanation and ends with Lekman and a choir singing the song’s title as a life-affirming rallying cry. “A broken heart is not the end of the world,” he assures the listener and himself, “because the end of the world is bigger than love.” Although “The End Of The World” is exceptional, it is the previous track “The World Moves On” that bears the album’s most transcendent statement, and perhaps its central thesis. “The World Moves On” might be Lekman’s most ambitious singular piece to date: a 6-minute, guitar driven whirlwind of a song, in which he recounts heavy drinking, making out with a stranger, being assaulted, and trying to befriend an opossum all while the Australian bush fires raged in the summer of 2009. In the midst of all this chaos, Lekman finds something beautiful — not closure, but acceptance — about his doomed relationship. “You don’t get over a broken heart,” Lekman admits, “You just learn to carry it gracefully.”
With that line in mind, the rest of I Know What Love Isn’t feels like a learning process, in which the listener shadows Lekman as he learns to live with his broken heart. It’s unclear to what extent Lekman’s method of “graceful carrying” actually helps him cope — the acoustic closing track is so crushing in its solemn acceptance that I almost wonder if it worked at all — but when the guitars and strings shimmer and Lekman sings of the sun rising over Melbourne on “The World Moves On,” it’s hard not to believe in him.
9/10
Key Tracks: “The World Moves On”, “The End Of The World Is Bigger Than Love”, “I Know What Love Isn’t”
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I Know What Love Isn’t is out now on Secretly Canadian.
Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy - “I See A Darkness” (Now Here’s My Plan version)
Will Oldham’s entire career seems to suggest that the best singer/songwriters are often the least predictable. With his longrunning Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy project, Oldham has crafted some of the most fascinating folk music of the past 20 years, with songs that range in style from gentle elegies to the dirge-like slowcore of I See A Darkness, his 1999 opus. No matter what style he works in, his simple ability to craft great songs is what drives his creative success.
On his surpring new EP, appropriately titled Now Here’s My Plan, Oldham displays the versatility of his songwriting by re-recording new versions of 6 classic Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy songs in a rollicking country-rock style. The achingly sparse and beautiful title track from I See A Darkness takes on new life in its 2012 version, displaying the sheer catchiness of Oldham’s melodic sense and giving an uplifting spin on the morose lyrics. The punchy electric guitar and lively backing harmonies are very fun as well; it sounds like Oldham & co. had a lot of fun arranging this new version. Part of me feels bad for enjoying this so much and not listening to the original very often right now, but I just can’t help it. Sometimes I’m just not in the mood for miserable, somber folk music.
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Now Here’s My Plan is out now on Domino Records.
Video: Jens Lekman - “I Know What Love Isn’t (Official Music Video)
It’s no secret that I love Swedish singer/songwriter Jens Lekman, but somehow he always finds ways to make me love him more. Lekman’s minimalist new video for “I Know What Love Isn’t,” the title track from his forthcoming album, is no exception to that. Much like the video for “Erica America,” the silky-smooth first single that dropped back in June, this clip features footage of Lekman and his band hammering away at the track.
Set against a stark white background, they appear to be playing on some sort of heavenly plane, which befits a song as lofty and beautiful as this one, even though it’s rather ironic. The song itself is incredible — easily one of Lekman’s best stories to date — but I particularly love this video for one shot at the end. Lekman stands alone, clutching his guitar, head bowed, with his bandmates’ instruments laying about him. He looks like a sad, balding puppy: utterly adorable, in a melodramatic, depressing way.
Stream/Download: The Orchestra Of Hugo Stiglitz - How To Remain Conscious (2012)
The Orchestra Of Hugo Stiglitz is the ambient music project of Evan Cooper, an extremely prolific musician based in Smithtown, New York. In 2012 alone, he’s already released six albums, ranging from the lofty ambient folk of Whispers of Immortality to the eerie drone of A Ghost Who Floats.
Released earlier today, How To Remain Conscious is Cooper’s latest and perhaps his best work under the Hugo Stiglitz moniker. It’s also one of his most subtle and thought provoking releases, constantly straddling the line between gently comforting and eerily disturbing. Although still firmly rooted in ambient music with its woozy synths and minimalist keys, How To Remain Conscious finds Cooper flirting extensively with glitchy electronics and subtle beats. When paired together, the two make for a disorienting combination — as a listener, I’m not sure whether to let it simply wash over me, or to pay attention and analyse the musical/rhythmic interplay. I can sense that this album will reward repeated listens for this reason, and I plan to incorporate it into my sleep playlist soon.
Cooper strays from the minimal electronic format occasionally on this record, at times harking back to to emotive folk of Whispers Of Immortality, his last release. The slowly building acoustic guitar and piano duet on “What Did You Forget?” is a particular highlight, especially with the strange, distant samples coming through in the background. The gentle, nursery rhyme-reminiscent “My Imaginary Friend” even finds Cooper singing a little, which adds some lively energy to the otherwise sleepy release. Overall though, I find this album to be most stimulating and successful on the more electronic tracks. It’s a direction that I think would be really rewarding for Cooper to explore more as he continues his impressive musical journey as The Orchestra Of Hugo Stiglitz.
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Stream How To Remain Conscious above and download it for free on bandcamp. I discovered Evan Cooper’s music through tumblr, so you might want to follow him HERE if you like this.
Stream/Download: The Human Fly - Everything Feels Bad All At Once (2012)
The Human Fly is Robert Mathis, a Harrisonburg, Virginia-based musician who hails from Connecticut. Or is he? What is The Human Fly, exactly? The first thing that Mathis sings on his new record Everything Feels Bad All At Once is “I don’t feel quite like myself,” but who is “himself?” Although Mathis drops more than a handful of extremely, almost uncomfortably personal lines on this album, he maintains a shroud of mystery that serves as a defensive wall for both Mathis and the listener. While listening to this album — a sprawling, 16 track doom folk epic — one wonders what facets of Everything Feels Bad… come from Mathis, and which come from the Fly, his self-appointed stage name. This dichotomy permeates the album, immediately recalling the similar phenomenon of Dan Barrett/Giles Corey’s self-titled LP, my favorite album from last year.
But the Giles Corey/Dan Barrett comparisons don’t stop at the mysterious air that surrounds The Human Fly. Mathis also seems to take some serious influence from both that project and Barrett’s better-known band Have A Nice Life, which presents itself both in the lo-fi recording style of this album and in its impenetrably dark, melodramatic themes. Like Giles Corey, listening to Everything Feels Bad All At Once is a thoroughly painful experience, but one that ultimately rewards in spades.
It is best enjoyed — or perhaps “experienced” is a better word — as a whole, thanks to the brilliant sequencing and overarching concept, but it’s also full of highlight tracks that stand out among the rest. With its depressingly repetitive chorus, the second track “Tiger” channels early 90s grunge through an acoustic filter. The drum backed “Severed Hed” is similar, with a looping acoustic guitar riff that matches the earworm vocal melody. That said, the best tracks on this album are the the slower, more contemplative numbers. “Moth” is one such track, and it happens to feature the album’s most individually heartbreaking line, delivered with utmost bitterness — “Well I’d love to be a butterfly, but I am just a moth.” Coming from someone who calls himself The Human Fly, this kind of dehumanizing self-deprecation is certainly expected, but it still makes me tear up a little every time I hear it.
The supremely lo-fi recording quality of this album definitely aids its thematic message, but it still makes one wonder what these songs would sound like if given a little more ‘space.’ Thankfully, Mathis has promised an entirely new, re-recorded version of Everything Feels Bad All At Once due out in a matter of months. If that makes this version a “demo,” then this is the best demo I’ve heard in a long, long time.
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Stream Everything Feels Bad All At Once and download it for free at The Human Fly’s bandcamp page. Seriously, if you enjoy any kind of heavy, melancholic folk music, you should love this record.
