Kevin Morby knows music. You can feel the confidence in the way he moves through chords and tones and moods. He sways and swerves with like man who knows every mogul, rock, tree, every breeze and twittering feather on a mountain as he cuts his lines with geometric precision.
And from the confidence comes the power to flourish and embellish effortlessly, to pack every rich tone with strings and horns and bass, and yes, the occasional singing saw, in the grand spirit of Okkervil River, Wilco, Band of Horses, and M. Ward. This is a fully realized domain. And unlike all that punk rock I like, there's no sense that the unexpected might happen, but in its place is a fully realized space, nuanced and inevitable, the likes of Guillermo del Toro or Herzog or Tarsem at the peak of their fictions. Guitars pull like worms, loamy textures and turning tones like rising suns at low angles through trees, sounds echoing off the dissipating overcast 4/5
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