Latest release finds Kurt Vile in a Philly state of mind

by Kurt Vile

As American life became increasingly untethered – if not unhinged – over the past decade, many artists looked for certainties.

Country acts found it in the genre’s reassuring symbols and clichés: the pick-up truck, beer on the back porch, buddies and a vague notion of an older, better and simpler America.

Other artists looked to their childhood or where they’d grown up when life was less complicated. You can hear that in Hiss Golden Messenger’s recent I’m People album addressing the suffering out there (“it ain’t over”) but finding solace and certainty in home and community.

It’s there in Kevin Morby’s Little Wide Open (you can read the review here) where he settles – physically and emotionally – to re-engage with the Midwest where he grew up.

Mary Chapin Carpenter’s Personal History addresses exactly that (“all of the hard stuff, it toughened us up”) but arrives at spiritual comfort: “We’ll be gone without a trace but in between we may be divine”.

Perhaps it’s artists getting older, but there’s a discernible theme of stepping back from unstable America.

Kurt Vile – age 46 – banners his nostalgic mood in this new album’s title as he reflects on his life, always finding his way home to Philly.

As a distinctive guitarist and songwriter, he often improvises autobiographical and digressive lyrics, giving a pleasant stoner vibe to his albums.

This is no exception as he wobbles like a bleary Neil Young into “you don’t know ’cause it’s my life … ’cause you left”, as he celebrates his hometown, nodding to Springsteen’s and Young’s songs in the movie Philadelphia: “A couple of my heroes wrote a song, but that ain’t where they’re from … Neil and The Boss.”

He sings of strangers who could be friends if you let them in, buddies he’s lost along the way, the Young-like ballad Every Time I Look At You, settles in for 10 minutes on 99th Song and moves from gentle guitar jangle to soft pop (the laidback instrumental Red Room Dub).

Vile followers will recognise the vibe: like sitting with an old friend improvising on guitar and rambling on about life, guitars and … just stuff. It’s reassuring, comfortable and a retreat from his dysfunctional country.

by Serebii

Tāmaki Makaurau electronica artist Callum Mower (aka Serebii) delivered the folk-influenced Dime last year but here – on his fourth album – creates an even more seductive sound design.

These 12 pieces are subtle (the two-minute opener Everything, like Japanese koto minimalism with scratchy surface vocals), sensitive soul-pop driven by an urgent beat (Even in the Quiet with “even if my eyes are closed I’m like an open flame”) and bouncy bubbling chillout (Ophia, Gohan).

Beyond the intelligent layering of instruments and the polished delivery of the uncredited female singer appearing throughout, there’s a dreamlike quality to the shapeshifting Royal Cardio bringing in saxophone for a brief cameo, the constantly morphing It’s My Body, with the title track and Air unfolding like disturbing semi-conscious thoughts.

Serebii relocates back to London soon with this as a fine farewell and calling card to an international audience.

Kurt Vile’s album is available digitally, on CD and vinyl. Serebii currently digital only.