Wolf

While not everything on the album works well, the missteps are merely missteps, rather than travesties. “The Farwest Leader” is sound in concept, but the slow dynamism of its middle section is unpleasantly offset by the jaunty tempo of its beginning and end. “Glanton Falls” is a fine placeholder, but seems thin when extracted. “I Absence, Am Abraham” is little more than a series of near-ambient patterns. Fortunately, “St. Paul” and “Attica in Twos” provide an apt balance by offering starlit blankets of violin and bells reminiscent of Bell Orchestre. When played straight through, the album makes more sense, and these small flaws are less evident.

Wolf is not a happy creation, but one that is keenly aware of human nature: our baser instincts, our fears, our shames. It is, however, an album that offers understanding for our darker moods, like a compadre – in the end, more dog than wolf. Everybody yearns to be understood, and to be cherished. Sharing our troubles can lighten our load. So pack up your Troubles in an old kit bag, and smile, smile, smile.