One imagines Davis, sitting on the edge of his bed, backside clenched and riven with tension as he waited for the next bout of inspiration to come. It may not have been that day but then, all of a sudden, lightning would strike and furious bursts of tensions and barely sustained emotional fury wreaked themselves. All over his various strings and fretboards.
Yet, after all the crying is over, there’s an air of cool melancholy and reflection that reassures both them and you that, one day, you’ll look back at all this. That’s probably down to the number of co-writes on the album. Emotions and instruments are all very well but often, you need the eye of an outsider, to identify true strength and emotional resonance.
Each of the album’s ten songs has been stretched and then compressed right back, so every ounce of fat is dispersed with and every twang of every string on every instrument is precisely placed for maximum effect. Lazar Davis occasionally makes the mistake of confusing the personal with the universal, as on the title track. But, when a whole album is as well-played,, as tight and musically satisfying as this, that’s easily forgivable.