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Basement’s Best: ​My Morning Jacket breaks hearts and waves on “Waterfall”

Music | May 7th, 2015

In the four years since the release of My Morning Jacket’s last album, “Circuital,” bandleader Jim James stretched himself awfully thin. He lent himself fully to two collaborative tribute albums (the Dylan-indebted “Lost on the River” and the Guthrie-saluting “New Multitudes”), wrote, recorded and released an excellent solo debut and toured extensively with MMJ and on his own.

Sparing little time upon washing his hands of these various side gigs, James and the rest of My Morning Jacket reunited at a coastal studio in northern California’s Stinson Beach, nestling themselves away to write and record its seventh studio venture, “The Waterfall.” One would be led to believe that James’ previous, breathless itinerary would make this an exasperated album, but the change of surroundings for the Louisville-based group must’ve had a purging effect – the frontman has stated in recent interviews that he penned enough material there for another album entirely, hinting at its possible release next year.

This glut of material can be just as readily traced to the emotional baggage that James has carried in from his time away, as this song cycle contains some of his most confessional writing to date. Ostensibly, “The Waterfall” is My Morning Jacket’s breakup album, albeit one curiously told from the perspective of the heartbreaker.

Resting among the predominantly cavernous riff-rock is the softly fingerpicked “Get the Point,” a declaration of withered love gently devastating with lines like “Then I realized all the time I was wastin’, trying to mend a broken situation/Daydreamin’ of leavin’, I only had to do it.” James’ signature echo-chamber vocals soar not-so-nostalgically above the slow-burning epic “Only Memories Remain” as twin guitar lines break with high-tide consistence. His romantic dissatisfaction isn’t as patiently veiled elsewhere on the record, however, as he slams his former lover’s hesitation on the power chord put-down “Big Decisions.”

Ultimately, the album’s underlying lyrical bitterness makes it one of the band’s most coherent efforts in years. Sifting through the better parts of the out-there “Evil Urges” and the imbalanced “Circuital,” My Morning Jacket has made one of its most consistent records yet. With the assistance of producer Tucker Martine (Modest Mouse, The Decemberists), each song is constructed to achieve Niagaran impact, as reams of stacked guitars and orchestral bows compliment every windmill strum.

An even keel of dopamine-flooding songs, “The Waterfall” is clearly the work of a band that’s finally found a way to properly rein in its experimental tendencies and fuse its disparate muses without having to sacrifice a drop of its long-established charm.

Notable tracks: “Believe (Nobody Knows)”, “Get the Point”, “Tropics (Erase Traces)”

KNDS 96.3 Suggests

“River” – Leon Bridges

The satin-tongued crooner sells the Kennedy-era soul aesthetic with uncut earnest. Coloring the baptismal “River” with a bone-tired plea, Bridges lets slivers of Redding’s “Dock of the Bay” zen ripple through.

“Moony Eyed Walrus” – Cayucas

The vitamin D-addled quintet returns for another stretch in the sun, taking idle time to find shapes in the clouds. Sounding like the West Coast’s beachy answer to Vampire Weekend’s university-pop, Cayucas’ “Moony Eyed Walrus” is a sun-baked romp replete with muted Soweto guitar chugging.

“Lousy Connection” – Ezra Furman
https://soundcloud.com/bella-union/ezra-furman-lousy-connection-mfit

In a case of art-imitates-art-imitates-art, Furman channels Todd Rundgren’s own heart-on-sleeve adoration of Carole King’s Wall of Sound-era pop with jukebox zeal.

“Sleepyhouse” – Jim James

Released to drum up crowdsourced support for a posthumous documentary by and about Blind Melon’s Shannon Hoon, the My Morning Jacket frontman’s contribution to the project druggily churns and descends.

“Tapes” – The Weather Station

“I’m older now than you ever were/or ever would become.” Tamara Lindeman’s glumly enigmatic lyrics are carried along an achy, slow-going ramble. In lieu of a sung chorus, Lindeman softly bellows a spine-shivering siren call as harrowing as her words.

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