Some
days seem to last forever, normal interactions seemingly unfolding
in a series of one-act plays all colored in varying shades of
monochrome. Thoughts slowly and vividly float in the air, almost
tangible; it's a limbo between being an active participant and
an outsider in your own weary head. If there's a soundtrack to
such a feeling, Canadian songwriter Barzin H.'s
latest album, My
Life in Rooms, could fill that void admirably. The album
moves at a snail's pace (time is not a concept here) almost as
if the weight of the songs themselves prevent them from going
any faster. This is not upbeat music --if that's not readily apparent
already-- but it is beautifully, restlessly
soporific, filled with gentle ebbs and flows. Nestling himself
into the company of bands like Mojave 3 and Tindersticks, Barzin
combines the dramatic and the introspective, creating something
that creeps along on legs made of pedal steel, strings, vibraphone
and quiet, barely-brushed drums. Tony Dekker
from Great Lake Swimmers and Suzanne Hancock
are Barzin's main contributors/collaborators here, and their presence
adds a subtle richness to the arrangements--in fact, the whole
album is so quietly lush and unassuming (yet powerful) that it
could be considered a study in subtlety. Barzin's whispery vocals
are often on the brink of being overpowered by the songs themselves,
adding to the hushed, velvety melancholy that pervades the album.
One song drifts into the next, without too much differentiation
between them--making My Life in Rooms seem like one long,
continuous stream of consciousness filled with thoughts of self-doubt,
regret, and isolation. ("I think you were right/we are
the weak ones/We're always here waiting for someone/Trying to
write it down/Before it's gone/Inside a book/ though it comes
out wrong" from the dreamily morose "So Much To
Call My Own")
Oddly warm and inviting despite its sparsity, My Life In Rooms
is equal parts soothing and unsettling. Depending on the listener,
the album may either feel like tunnel vision or--for those of
us who often hang out in the grays--perfectly, wonderfully
right.
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