“Death is real, someone’s there, and then they’re not”, echoes the beginning of Mount Eerie’s latest and long awaited album since his wife’s passing in July of 2016.
As somberness sets the tone from the start, this is the first time Phil Elverum sounds even more depressed than his early 2000s work as The Microphones.
I’ve been anticipating this album for a while, and assumed that it would put me in a strange place mentally, as does most of Elverum’s music.
I was not surprised.
It immediately started raining as I pressed play at the beginning of my usual Sunday errands, and he quickly snatched my attention with those opening lines.
There was zero shock value at the usual emptiness of his voice, but something about this particular album of his was different. The isolation was real. It was vivid, and almost disturbing. Minimal guitar strokes coat the majority of the album, pairing almost scientifically with his whispers and murmurs.
Musicianship aside, what sticks out most are his ridiculously poetic lyrics. They feel so organic to the point where you think he’s reading out of his personal diary. It’s like he’s not even trying.
This wasn’t necessarily an artistic project. Everybody knows Phil Elverum is full of critically acclaimed songs. It’s clear in his twenty-plus year career his capabilities to write “hit” records. It’s mostly for the melancholy, filled with odes to those who suffer through infinite emptiness.
However, on A Crow Looked At Me, Phil finds true reason in his solitude.
He paints gorgeous landscapes of how he copes, writes, and creates in a world where he is left with the pain of death and loss alongside his one and a half year old daughter. He is widowed and lost in a world where most people define themselves by their relationship status.
“And I bring you up repeatedly. uninvited to. Do the people around me want to keep hearing about my dead wife, or does the room go silent when I mention you shining a light?” is an example of the excruciating suffering he must live with, day after day, having the responsibility of fatherhood and being an artist.
A Crow Looked At Me is not a selfish take on death by any means. Half of the time, he’s singing about his daughter, and the pain she doesn’t even know exists that she will live with until the day she dies, alongside her fathers.
This album is spectacular, and true to it’s form. Phil is witnessing a part of life most people pray they never have to. His pain is extreme, and his pain is as real as the ground beneath us.
Phil’s unwillingness to abide by standard song structure seems to be what is most important within these 42 minutes of the dark corners of human existence. There are no true hooks, or even a sense of formality to his lyrics and rhyme schemes. “I look over my shoulder to make sure, but nobody is there.” is vulgar realism of what happens to those who must endure death mentally and emotionally.
I’m sure there will be more Mount Eerie records. I’m sure we will see more of Phil Elverum in the near future, especially with the upcoming spring touring season. However, what I am not sure of is if Phil can top A Crow Looked At Me, or if any musician could in the year 2017. I’m stating this boldly for a reason. It’s true, it’s real, and it’s absolutely magical.
If you ever need to reflect, if you ever need to cry, or if ever need to listen to a truly remarkable record, A Crow Looked At Me is perfect for you.
Long live Phil Elverum, and his spine-chilling song writing. He is a man of talent, and a true artist. I can’t wait to hear what he has for us next.
