For as long as I can remember, I've been a lone wolf. Heck, it was even the name of my first e-mail address back in middle school, so you know I took that stuff seriously. As a result of being a rather isolated only child in a rural area, I never really had the early exposure to my peer group and, well, I learned to survive without ‘em. That being said, I'm not a total hermit and love it when I find someone who I can spend my time with, but in terms of school work and my overall day, I'm the definition of a lone wolf.
Ray LaMontagne, bearded flannel-clad folk singer, has broken out of his lone wolf status and assembled a backing band for the first time in his career. Of course, he's always had people playing with him, but this is an organic, self-produced way of expanding his inner circle and stirring the creative pot, so to speak. Apparently it worked, if you look at his placing on the Billboard chart and the (rightfully) glowing reviews. Coming off the uber 70s Gossip in the Grain, LaMonatagne stripped things down a little and crafted a vulnerable, taut collection of ten songs.
Best of all is This Love is Over, a sublimely nuanced acoustic ballad that is as haunting as it is emotional. LaMontagne may have an enormous voice, but to me, it works the best when he backs away from that. Here, it's almost like he can't get the words out, his textured voice wringing every ounce of hurt, contempt, and strength out of one of the shortest songs on the album. It stays with you long after the track ends, the soft guitars and elegant strings providing a stunningly elegant atmosphere for such a premiere vocalist. New York City's Killing Me immediately gives you traditional country vibes. You can easily imagine one of the genre's veteran vocalists singing this harrowing tale of big city claustrophobia, the faded steel guitars and shimmering production authentic and tender. It's not as immediately painful as This Love but its slow burn is pretty lethal and only gains intensity with each additional listen. It's an interesting style choice for LaMontagne but one that suits him well, as his aching vocal gives each line such dimension. For the Summer is so full of longing and the type of romanticism that he can bring seemingly on a whim. A sister song to New York (the key is to come home and get away from an oppressive environment), it expresses that weariness through anticipation and relief, as the cutting harmonica and warm percussion add that extra bit of flavor that this pretty plaintive song needs. There's not as much flash here, so it may not necessarily be a repeat song, but taken on its own merit, it's typically beautiful.
One of the main complaints that I have about the album is how slow it is. There are only two semi-fast songs on the record, which bookend the record. The Devil's in the Jukebox doesn't exactly pack a wallop in terms of its pacing, but it's a nice change and ends up being one of the bigger listens on the record. While songs like This Love are pretty raw and contained, Devil's foot tapping extroversion is well timed and pretty meaty in terms of content. It may be a little repetitive in terms of lyricism, but its haggard bluesy edge is breathtaking to behold. First single Beg Steal or Borrow was a pretty rightful song to be released, as its not gruff, overly dark, or any of the other faults that radio would have with a LaMontagne song (it's also fairly catchy). It's not particularly exciting, but you get production that backs off a little bit and Ray can have a little room to perform. One of the other main faults I have with the record is that sometimes his voice isn't allowed to bring it and gets drowned out by the layers of instrumentation. Here, however, it's more balanced and this cautionary tale ends up being a rather pleasant addition to the record. Repo Man may be over six minutes long, but its fiery disposition and bitterly intelligent lyricism keep the song brisk and entertaining. The production is a touch busy, especially upon first listen, but LaMontagne is never overshadowed and spits venom at a former lover with surprising ease. Had the song been edited a little (there's a long instrumental break to contend with and the first half of the song is noisy), it would have been pretty stunning, as hearing LaMontagne bust loose is never a bad thing, but it's no slouch here.
God Willin' & the Creek Don't Rise may be a little slow and sometimes indistinguishable, but it's exquisitely sang and thoughtfully written. LaMontagne hasn't changed his writing voice since adopting a band, as he's still the same sensitive, raw lyricist that he's always been and showcases it in spades here. Bookended by fiery uptempos, this is a somewhat dark and murky release but a therapeutic one nonetheless. For first time listeners of LaMontagne, it may not be the record to start with (I've personally heard two records before this), but it continues his trend of expressive bluesy singing and mostly soft production. The thing that I like about LaMontagne is that he is who he is, everyone else be damned, and it's extremely evident on God Willin' that if you throw one person or 100 people at him to collaborate, who Ray LaMontagne is will shine through regardless.
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