The front cover of "Post To Wire" is a photo of an abandoned, dilapidated trailer home, apparently in the middle of the desert. Painted on the side are the words THIS IS THE LAND OF BROKEN DREAMS. This album is a collection of songs about fractured, desperate, lonely people, about struggle, and grit, and fragile moments of hope, joy, even romance.
Yeah, it’s a country record. Well, ok, sure, at it’s core. But it’s a damn good country record, and one that isn’t afraid to use decidedly non-traditional sounds, like the keyboard sounding drone and quietly manic drumming of opening track "The Longer You Wait." This album is an object study in the balance between passion and poignancy, between tragedy and beauty (not that those last two are mutually exclusive). The subject matter has been done to death and back, but there’s a deftness of touch in both the lyrics and the vocal delivery that is really special even when handling such standard fodder as, in this case, a slowly disintegrating relationship (lovers or father/daughter? It remains ambiguous).
"Barely Losing" is more traditional fare – a song about a trip to Nevada (I’m guessing). A crueller reviewer than me might call this ‘Ode to trailer trash heaven’, and there’s plenty to sneer at if that’s your thing, but the honesty of the whole thing just disarms you and leaves you feeling sad that such a thin slice of happiness can mean so much.
"Montgomery Park", meanwhile, kicks off magnificently, building to a great crescendo of drums and guitar and pretty much staying at 80 miles per for the duration. 3 minutes of sheer energy.
A gentle acoustic instrumental overlaid with some delicate slide work (which remains exquisite throughout this album) leads into "Through", a quiet ballad about meeting someone and feeling attraction, that builds to a beautifully soaring chorus (‘Well I know that I can/Feel that way too/I won’t feel so bad/I won’t feel so blue’). Again, the delicacy and sureness of song writing becomes more and more apparent on subsequent listening, including on this track some really well timed, immaculate bass playing. Gorgeous.
This is followed by the first in a series of 3 postcards from a guy called Walter, spoken over the previously mentioned instrumental. Opinion has been divided on these, but I love ‘em, and the way they string the tracks together to create the illusion of a unifying back-story to this whole album.
"Two Broken Hearts" starts acoustically, with subtle instrumentation joining in throughout the first verse and swelling, very very gently over the chorus. The lyric is just heart achingly good, even with a chorus line that’s lyrically redundant. The lovers pledge to not ‘be careful anymore/with you, I won’t be careful anymore’ is magical, and the appearance of a tattooed figure perusing the couple in the last verse (accompanied by the sound of a wind blowing) doesn’t quite manage to undermine the feeling of the song, though it adds to the feelings of fragility.
"Hallway" is an altogether darker affair from the get go, with a harsh fender guitar sound and ominous tom beat leading to the memorable opening line ‘Put down the gun’. A chorus with no words, that runs a beautifully layered bluesy pattern with some nice guitar work (and a mean drum fill) at the end of each line. This is real ‘less is more’ poetry too – the whole song has about 8 lines maximum, and manages to tell a situation, if not a full story, very effectively in that time. The slow fade over increasingly distorted guitars keeps the menace flowing… at least until the next postcard fades in from Walter.
After which, we have the title track – "Post To Wire" – and this is pure gold, romance, vulnerability, two people committing to be with each other (if everyone/screws up/and I know that we both do/doesn’t it make sense?/Me with you?) in spite and because of each others weaknesses. I simply cannot do justice to how good a piece of song writing this is, but suffice it to say it is perfect unto itself.
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Of course, following that is next to impossible, and "Polaroid" is the first ho-hum moment of the album for me. It’s not bad, as such, but it’s too much of a piece, whilst just not adding anything strong enough to stand next to the previous song. Musically, although exquisitely played, it also seems to lack sparkle, and oddly for an album of short songs, this even manages to drag a little. It’s much more the kind of thing you’d expect from a country record, which is probably why feels less welcome as part of an album that exceeds expectations so well.
Fortunately, there’s "Always On The Ride" to drag things back on course. A misleading opening slide guitar note leads to a more mid-paced country sound, with a set of lyrics that are of a similar calibre of the Stones ‘Dead Flowers’ – with the added advantage of being more empathic and less self obsessed than that song could ever have hoped to be, given its authors. This is a wistful look at peoples capacity for self destruction ( I hope you’re always on the ride/ But I know/ The ride it always ends/And when is does it takes your love). It manages to care without being mawkish. A gem.
A final postcard leads to "Alison Johnson", which is ponderous and overuses the strings to my taste. The use of brushes on the drums make the whole thing sound crackly, like it’s being played on old vinyl, but the song slides past without making any real impression.
Still, it’s short enough to be inoffensive, and fades nicely into "Williamette" - a real tour de force. This moody, brooding song builds so well, through the story of a childhood of missing fathers and brothers and maternal neglect, leading to the seat at the riverside, trying to make sense of everything. This is the sound of creeping desperation, of being utterly trapped, imprisoned in the land of the free by bland fact of circumstance. It’s about the burden of a life with no discernable future, and the slide guitar and drums come together to deliver the sound of a fever nightmare that you cannot wake up from for the simple chilling reason that the dream is your life. One of the central themes of the album is of trying to hold things together in the face of poverty and misery, striving for the chinks of sunlight, and this song is the sound of that grip finally slipping, of the walls coming down and the tidal wave of despair washing everything away. Magnificent.
The album closes with a final instrumental, "Valediction", which brings to mind the rolling of the credits after the shocking final scene of Williamette, and somehow manages to bring you back to yourself gently. Vaguely reminiscent of the extended ending of 'Layla', but far more gentle and flowing, some lovely side stick drumming and the now-familiar slide guitar picking out the tune, with some delicate piano. And as it pleasingly fades out, there’s a feeling of the cinema lights coming up, and you’re returned to reality, safe and sound. But you’re unlikely to forget what you’ve heard.
And you’ll be back.
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