Full Circle Nightmare

構成数 : 1
合計収録時間 : 00:39:57
Personnel: Kyle Craft (vocals, acoustic guitar, piano); Ben Steinmetz (organ); Haven Multz (drums, percussion). Audio Mixers: Trevor Spencer; The Helio Sequence. Recording information: Halfling Studios, the Sin Bin, Portland, OR. Photographers: Laki Karavias; Peter Karavias; Jeremy Padot. Indie rocker Kyle Craft is only left of center in a contemporary context; his music and the way he delivers it are indebted to classic Southern rock and album rock acts like the Band, the Stones, and Bob Dylan. Less prominent but peering through it all lies David Bowie, who first inspired Craft to pick up a guitar as a teen. Though he did sneak out a collection of home-recorded covers of female singers in the interim (Girl Crazy), Full Circle Nightmare is the Louisiana native's official follow-up to his 2016 debut, Dolls of Highland. With production by the Decemberists' Chris Funk, it represents Craft's first time recording in a proper studio instead of off his laptop. That ends up being side note, if not an insignificant one, as Full Circle Nightmare seems to pick up right where Dolls of Highland left off, evoking a tad undersized, spotlighted stage in a packed bar. That's due in no small part to the album having been recorded live in the studio with Craft's band. They kick things off in rollicking fashion with "Fever Dream Girl," which opens with a whoosh before pounding out four beats of snare per measure behind an eighth-note guitar line, organ, chord-bashing piano, bari sax, and Craft's vibrantly gruff holler. Next up is the title track, a companion piece that involves the storyteller personally, instead of merely as observer, in the fallout of the "whiplash woman." The album continues in kind through tales of romantic double-dealing and near misses that include song titles like "Fake Magic Angel," "Heartbreak Junky," and "Belmont (One Trick Pony)," with some songs making reference to characters and events in others. Energy, twang, lyrical drama, and Craft's exasperation run high through almost the entire set, only coming down for "Slick & Delta Queen," which relies on acoustic guitar and piano for rhythm after setting drums aside. Still, the singer gets little rest, eventually building to a wail ("I never once called you baby/I always thought you were more to me"). Throughout, the album's stories, turns of phrase, and underdog romanticism loom even larger than its melodies, but what leaves the biggest impression is that barely restrained revelry. ~ Marcy Donelson