Mumford and their calculated emotion-baiting ruined this sound. I can't hear a single layered exaltation over banjos, a single skyward build to something bigger over upright bass, a single chord-change//break into "oooaaaaaaawwwwooooooaaaaah!", without thinking of those smug fucks and their army of doe-eyed dipshits.
What if Mumford never existed? Better! What if, by whatever mechanism, I wasn't such a jaded, smug fuck of my own pernicious breed?
What if those genuinely good turns of phrase reminded me of Dan Mangan and Josh Ritter? What if that light streaking up between the planks caught some stray grass from the rock of my heart? Because dammit, the chops seem real. The sentiment seems real. And damn, that dusty production does feel like the horse led the cart. And when I listen to this I hear musicians and music and damn if that's not hard to find these days. And surely one bad apple can't ruin an entire style for an entire generation.
And then I think about putting this on and someone going, "is this Mumford and Sons?" and I want to punch a child. What an unholy asshole I am. Power through it, Baker 3.5/5
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