Music Reviews: Artist Archives
Rivulets
Debridement
Winter has finally found its way to Lincoln. I know that sounds odd, considering that I’m writing this at the end of January (and posting it in mid-February), but you have to understand something. Lincoln (and Nebraska in general) has incredibly screwed up weather, which explains why we were sitting pretty in the 60s and 70s in mid-January. But Nature, being the frigid shrew that she is, saw fit to break our little streak with a cold snap a few days ago. Lincoln was finally converted into a winter wonderland, the streets were finally sheeted with ice, and I could finally justify the scarf and coat I’d been trucking around for the past few months.
Right when the weather was taking its dramatic turn, a package from Rivulets showed up in the mail. I am thoroughly convinced that this was no coincidence, because if there was ever music for cold snaps, icy chills, and the moodiness that comes with the season, it would be in the compositions of Nathan Amundson.
I’ve shown a real predilection for the winter blues, and so Debridement might not be the best thing to take in large doses. Even so, it quickly became a mainstay of my listening regimen within a day of its arrival. In spite of its dark nature, or perhaps because of it, I couldn’t help but be drawn into the carefully constructed and arranged atmosphere. And atmosphere is one thing that Debridement has in spades.
Not the usual sort that you might attribute to an arsenal of pedals, but the kind you only hear in old, ivy-covered cathedrals and other holy places. It’s an environment that overwhelms you, not with sheer volume and mass, but with terrible intimacy. Amundson captures that in his music, either through recording techniques and locations, the use of optigans, organs, and loops, or his fragile vocals and pensive lyrics.
There’s a definite sense of wistfulness and longing that permeates this album, which probably comes from being cooped up all winter long with nothing to do but stare at white snow and grey skies. As on his previous full-length, Amundson shows a real gift of gravity throughout the record, and it manifests itself more fully here. While it can get overwhelming at times, as on the insistent and ominous “Bridges”, it causes one to take his songs that much more seriously.
This record boasts a large number of collaborators (Alan Sparhawk, Mimi Parker, Jon DeRosa, Jessica Bailiff, and Brian John Mitchell, to name a few), but they never overshadow Amundson; the album’s vision remains solely his. Which means that despite their delicate constitution, his songs have strength and passion, enough to help you make it through this winter, and the many winters to come.
Thank You Reykjavik
I lost my first copy of Rivulet’s self-titled debut, and Nathan Amundson was gracious enough to send me another copy to review. And thankfully, he was gracious enough to send me a copy of “Thank You Reykjavik”, a 4-song EP of material from the self-titled album recorded for the Icelandic National Broadcasting Service.
It’s hard to really call the material on here “stripped down”, seeing as how Rivulets’ core already sounds pretty sparse, even when embellished with percussion, organ, and additional vocals, among other things. But on “Thank You Reykjavik”, it’s just Amundson and his guitar, and his songs are just as strong and beautiful. However, the music is such that you find yourself filling in certain details, especially if you’ve heard the full-length (for example, I found those little bell chimes from “Four Weeks” running through my head).
If nothing else, “Thank You Reykjavik” reveals that Amundson’s songs can be just as arresting in a live, solo setting as on his studio effort. What’s more, the little “imperfections” that creep in, like Amundson’s soft breathing or the squeak of his fingers along the guitar’s neck, add warmth and intimacy to music that already posesses such qualities in spades.
While much of the fame in the indie singer/songwriter circles might go to the Conor Obersts and Jason Molinas of the world, Amundson has quietly established himself as a singer/songwriter to watch. It may (unfortunately) fly under most people’s radars, but the good things are always worth seeking out.
Rivulets
Not too long ago, I made one of the worst errors a critic can make… I lost a CD that I was supposed to review. Somehow, in the midst of moving, of packing and boxing, my copy of “Rivulets” was misplaced. For all I know, my old landlord could have given it to the Goodwill. Now, that wouldn’t be a problem if it were some CD-R punk comp or lame trance mix, but this was a CD that I’d actually intended to review once the dust had settled.
They (or he, since Rivulets is essentially Nathan Amundson) were gracious enough to send another copy, and I slipped it into the CD player, wondering where I’d start. But once the CD started with Amundson’s soft strumming and breathy vocals, all such thoughts vanished, and I realized how much I’d missed these songs. It wasn’t something I’d ever noticed; things like that usually aren’t. But these songs felt so familiar, like a set of old, grainy family photographs you stumble across, not so much comforting as haunting.
On the surface, one is tempted to write Rivulets off as yet another Nick Drake devotee, with the hushed vocals and delicate guitarwork. But as the disc goes on, its more gripping aspects come to the surface. This is no clearer than on “Tightrope”, which may be the album’s masterpiece. Amundson’s vocals never sound softer and wearier, and his guitar takes on an almost funeral-like pace, driven only by soft percussion and a reverbed guitar. When he sings “Let’s walk down the road tonight”, his voice just on the verge of giving out and overcome by the distant booms of the percussion, the sense of tragedy is almost overwhelming.
“Swans” strikes up another stark progression, with Amundson’s soft vocals sighing “Swans float above my lake” like the last words of a drowning man staring at the light above the surface. “Barreling Towards Nowhere Like There’s No Tomorrow” might imply a fairly rollicking song, but the song implies resignation more than anything else, a feeling of certain weight. It’s a feeling lent greater credence as Mimi Parker’s equally weary, yet lovely vocals join in.
Even when the album strikes up a lighter tone, it’s underscored by this solemn sound. Amundson’s strumming and singing on “Past Life” may come the closest to recalling Nick Drake. But this is not just some folksy, pastoral rehash, a la Mojave 3’s latest endeavors. “Past Life” may sound fairly jaunty compared to the rest of the album, but it too eventually succumbs, overwhelmed by a distant, droning organ that until the end, had just remained in the background. This same distant dread is felt throughout “How Who”, where it slowly becomes more dominant as the song continues, held at bay only by Amundson’s falsetto.
Now, from what you’ve just read, you might get the impression that “Rivulets” is a fairly morose affair, but that’s not really true. Sure, these songs will never make someone’s party mix, but the delicate anxiety they contain give them depth and beauty, rather than a feeling of angst and despair. It’s an album that does take its time growing on you. The first few times I listened to it, these songs failed to make much of an impression. But little did I know that they were working away on me, which I didn’t realize until I had lost the CD. It wasn’t until a few weeks later that I truly felt the impression they had left.