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| Smoke Ring For My Halo |
As this blog’s name suggests, I hold a special place in my heart for that time of the night where we all decide to break from yelling at each other about our favorite new albums in some poor chump’s kitchen, and stumble out into the sobering cool of the high desert for a good ol’ fashioned, god-damned cigarette. Plain and simple, despite the obvious drawbacks of actively taking your own life, I fucking love tobacco. As such, I fucking love albums that spark that insatiable urge to dig into my pockets for a lighter that probably isn’t mine, drag slowly on the end of an American Spirit, find that perfect posture of bored elegance (yes, everyone wants to look cool while they smoke; it’s always been part of the appeal, so fuck off if you dare deny), and blow a few smoke rings off into midnight.
Kurt Vile’s newest is definitely a tobacco, and unsurprisingly, THC-tinged collection of material. Whereas Childish Prodigy, his last full-length, had a little more amp-driven, booze-fueled muscle behind it, Smoke Ring For My Halo sets a slower, almost woozy pace. Thank you gods of Americana, you have been so very kind to our friend Kurt. Clearly, he is turning corner after corner in terms of refusing to play by the rules of the scene in which he has become such a pivotal figure. Yeah, I’m talking about “lo-fi,” that pathetic crutch of an aesthetic so irresponsibly leaned on by a gathering mass of contemporary musicians who really don’t know what the fuck they even want to sound like. Do not rope Kurt Vile into that (justifiable) stereotype, for he is a master. Instead of a mask, he navigates the atmospherics of his songs with refined production and a couldn’t-give-a-shit-less grace that tosses his listeners into a fascinating tension, drawn out by the shifting polarities of both his guitar work and clever songwriting.
What both the title of the album and the songs themselves invoke is a conversation between light and dark, sacred and profane, presence and absence; these tunes simultaneously bring us closer to Vile than ever before, all the while keeping us miles removed, always refusing to locate us at one particular place within the dialogue. It makes for fantastic listening, especially layered against and weaved between his beautiful guitar fuzz, and Smoke Ring For My Halo’s success ultimately lies in the suspense of its dualities. Just take this little snippet from “Jesus Fever,” one of my personal favorites: “ When I’m a ghost, I see no reason to run/ When I’m already gone/ .” It’s soul music for the dead, and god damn it people, listen to these ghosts! They could not do you wrong.
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