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.