![]() “18th of December” returns to familiar territory – a tight story of loss, with Ryan Boldt’s vocals over an insistent drum and keyboard driven beat. Opener “Miles and Miles” declares a new direction from previous work, and features the not-often-heard-enough voice of Chris Mason – with it’s natural ethereal and geeky quality – being mixed low and lost sounding in a psychedelic soundscape that is immediately attractive and intriguing – fuzzy guitars and keyboards combining to create a sound like the old Deep Dark Woods but acidly, psychedelically different. ![]() Producer Jonathan Wilson of the Laurel Canyon folk massive, and engineer Bryce Gonzales, joined them to capture a spacious, live sound that sets a jangly, trance-ey mood for what may prove to be their best album yet – one that for the first time succeeds in capturing something of the improvisatory quality of their live sound over its hour or so duration. The last two songs seem to provide a glimpse of the narrator being reunited with a true love, lyrically, but the instrumentation turns even darker and more unsettling, so it’s hard to feel any happy closure when Boldt sings “we prepared a dwelling there” or “There she was, my beloved / She was coming after me.” I was left thinking there was more to the stories, that they couldn’t end happily, not the way they’re sung or played.For their fifth album, and their first with new guitarist Clayton Linthicum (a youthful stalwart of Saskatoon’s alt-country scene) The Deep Dark Woods took themselves to an Alberta cabin under the Rocky Mountains. It’s just that I don’t tie those moments to the song in my mind they’re part of the whole journey of the album. That’s not to say there aren’t standout moments when the instruments swell, or when Boldt punctuates his timeless folk lyrics with unique and perfect turns of phrase (my favorite: “It's too bright in here to get myself together”). The aching melodies and recurring themes of nature, light and dark, wayfaring, homesickness and pining for a lover are more striking than the subtle (to me) differences from song to song. ![]() I’d be hard-pressed to distinguish the other seven songs from one another. (The specifics are so terrible it’s a relief to return to the more obscure sadness of the originals.) “Anathea,” one of hundreds of spins on a centuries-old tale of a young maiden pleading with a judge or executioner, was most famously performed by Judy Collins, and it contains the most concrete storyline of any of the songs. Nearly all eight songs sound like they could be modernized takes of old folk songs from Europe and Appalachia, but in fact there’s only one traditional song on the album. ![]() The lyrics are similarly disorienting-are they different stories or one long story of a world-weary traveler, missing a distant love and an elusive homeland that he seemingly can’t return to? Or are they the mental torments of a sleepless night as he struggles with depression, recycling thoughts of mistakes made and losses experienced over a lifetime? ![]() Ryan Boldt’s gently wavering voice layers onto the instruments like he’s murmuring an incantation. The effect of listening to Changing Faces from beginning to end is like being under a spell, or in a dream. However, the title does warn that the song is “Treacherous Waters.” Almost immediately, the instruments turn spooky and melancholy and stay that way through most of the whole album. The brief record (just eight songs and thirty minutes long) opens with a sweet jangle of guitar strings and bright, though slightly sad, notes of a pedal steel. How can music feel so ethereal yet so, so heavy? It’s something I kept asking myself as I listened, fascinated, to Changing Faces, the sixth album of Canadian alt-country-folk band The Deep Dark Woods. ![]()
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