Eighty eight further minutes of your life you won't get back again with this latest album from Mark Kozelek's favourite singer. Recorded partly in hotels, I'm looking forward to hearing what particular accommodation gripes he has this time. If this is not enough for you then there's also a new Sun Kil Moon album due later in the year. Rejoice!
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Folk rock farter Mark is back again with a record of self-contracted checklist box tickers: a front cover with an anonymous photo of some landscape and stuff, some very pretty picking, some inoffensively bad songs. The ‘here and there’, shrug of the shoulders music of a low-key bastard. He sounds kinda friendly on this one, though -- his guitars serene, his scene-changes light and listless, his list of people allowed to hang out in his town endless. Cardi B namedrops: one. Songs about museums dedicated to him: one. Amount of songs I listened to the whole way through: none.
Honestly at this point I listen to Mark Kozelek’s music the way you read clickbait: check out the topic sentence and quickly take in the looping guitar pattern of the day. The only real analytical comment I have to make about the record is that, well, the guitars are sweet as a very after-dinner pie on this one: they twinkle and hum like a parade of Sufjan Stevens aesthetics. For once they actually feel like the fore of the album, or maybe Kozelek’s voice, coupled with singing about what song he’s listening to, has finally hit a point of excess that makes it an inaudible frequency that only certain breeds of dog can hear. I feel bad for them.
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