This is more of a lying on your back, staring at the ceiling, trying to come down affair. While this album is pushing closer to the disco vein this time around, this is not the track for the floor, or at least the dancefloor. The track pulses with rhythm - hot, humid, palpable - but it also drips with the usual streaked condensation and liquid guitar intensity that the band’s been known for. Where the title track to Stars Are The Light sparkled with enough shimmer to warrant its title, “Lost Heads” is a deeper dive into what Moon Duo do best.

While Primrose Green is a great statement for a '70s freak-folk cosplayer, I just hope it’s not a career-defining one for Walker.Another gem drops from the new Moon Duo record and this time its a headier bit of ballast than the last time around. The shape of Walker’s voice and the twists and turns of his band reanimate a specific aesthetic without adding much more than the tools of modern production. The extensive biography that accompanies Primrose Green positions it as 'an album of a sort we haven’t seen since the 1970s'-a bit of description perhaps too on the nose, as these 10 songs are acts of pure creative anachronism and affectation. As he starts and stops, slows and sprints, he communicates dread and unease with the conviction his voice lacks. Over a harmonium drone, Walker musters pure energy and expression with only his guitar. Smoking grass at night makes him feel 'alright' leaving his love, however cruel, would make him into a 'fool.'įor a point of contrast, see 'Griffiths Buck Blues', the one instrumental number on Primrose Green. Walker’s lyrics read like a set of unfinished end-rhyme exercises by a college student who has just discovered the Beats. He treats every written syllable of 'Sweet Satisfaction' like a chance to slur a half-dozen of them, stretching words until it’s easier to ignore them. The screamed lover-boy exhortations of 'Summer Dress' are counterproductive at best, copycatting at worst. He over-sings almost every part of this record, trying to match his heroes with an inadequate instrument. For someone so obsessed with classic troubadours, he has a damning disregard for his own songs. The band sizzles during 'Sweet Satisfaction', dips and dives during 'Same Minds', and charges into vibraphone-and-bass bedlam during 'Summer Dress'.īut the trouble comes with Walker-the songwriter and singer, not the instrumentalist. Walker wires a moaning blues theme into the beat, suggesting the wonderful roots-rock patience of American Beauty-era Grateful Dead. 'On the Banks of the Old Kishwaukee' depends upon another stunning groove built by drummer Frank Rosaly and bassist Anton Hatwitch.

Heavy acoustic strumming, sharp electric guitar and twinkling keyboards dart around a deep rhythm, working into a frenzy until the song approaches the ecstasy of a raga. During the extended introduction of 'Love Can Be Cruel', for instance, they delight in the space between folk-rock form and jazz-band freedom.

The band he built for Primrose Green is a stirring, captivating ensemble, too, the kind of group that could jam for an uninterrupted hour and never lose an audience’s attention or its own freewheeling focus. Of all the songwriters trying their hand at this revivalist approach during the last decade, including Steve Gunn, Hiss Golden Messenger, and Sharon Van Etten, Walker is the most natural and enviable. Walker is versatile, too, with a chameleonic quality that allows him to slip into ragged electric blues and bucolic acoustic reveries with equal ease.

And he has a Miles Davis-like capability to surround himself with astounding musicians, from early collaborator Daniel Bachman to the band of Chicago jazz firecrackers who not only support him on Primrose Green but also supply many of its best moments. He possesses the light touch of Bert Jansch, the unbottled energy of Peter Walker, and the musical erudition of John Fahey. He’s one of the leading young stylists in a crowded instrumental guitar scene. Make no mistake: Walker is a prodigious talent.

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