Kurt Vile practices rock as the art of trickery. To hear it, it sounds so easy! His good-natured interpretations, his texts that always seem to be written on a napkin, rows of impressions of the moment punctuated in the most banal way possible. He talks to us as much as he sings, the prince of slacker rock, who runs it even smoother on this ninth solo album where pop song wallows in violins (Chazzy Don’t Mind) and subtle synths, the sound of the upright piano that must have been lying around in a corner of the studio, the brassy tones of the electric guitars and the slide. It is all the same almost a double album that he serves us here (15 songs, 75 minutes), stuffed with insidious melodies (Cool Waterthe addictive Jesus on a Wire, and so on) that stick in our minds from the first listen. Without claiming that it is a pandemic album, it is in any case an album that invites reflection, wordy but dreamy, atmospheric and full of tenderness.
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