Artist: M. Ward
Album: Hold Time
Year: 2009
Grade: 3 pretzels
There must be something wrong with me.
I should be able to feel this album’s warm embrace. It should wrap around me like an oh-so-carefully-worn wool blanket, protecting me from the icy New England winter I’m currently living in. It should soothe the Grammy-induced pain in my heart. It should smell and taste like a glorious (and surprisingly appetizing) combination of chicken noodle soup and cookies. This is comfort music. It should make people feel good, assuring them that all their problems (yes, even that blasted economy) will be just fine.
I don’t feel that when I listen to this record. I feel bored. I need help.
M. Ward is, according to Wikipedia, “a singer-songwriter who rose to prominence in the Portland, Oregon music scene.” That sounds pretty good, right? We’ve got a Pacific Northwest connection. Of course everyone loves a good singer-songwriter. Plus, the album sounds like something that couldn’t go wrong: fourteen short tunes, sent out with open arms to spread joy and contentment. That sounds nice doesn’t it? Then why the fuck don’t I like it?
I can’t shake this feeling that M. Ward is, at the heart of the matter, interchangeable with virtually every other indie-folk, guitar-strumming troubadour. He’s got more press and those songs sure do sound purdy, but is there anything that really makes him…distinct? Perhaps, for M. Ward, simply being the go-to guy for Indie 101 is what makes him important. Somehow, in a field of seemingly identical baseball-cap-wearing songwriters, he’s been selected as the standout. He’s been chosen as the flag bearer for respected indie songwriters everywhere, conquering college radio stations and Starbucks with equal ease. And yet…he does nothing for me. I’m a terrible person.
Whatever the reason, M. Ward has sure made some impressive friends over the years, several of whom show up here on Hold Time. Although My Morning Jacket’s Jim James is sadly absent, alt-country supreme deity Lucinda Williams shows up on a fairly routine version of “Oh, Lonesome Me”, adding some much-appreciated scratchiness to M. Ward’s usual honey-soaked tones. Indie goddess Zooey Deschanel, his She & Him collaboration buddy, quietly sneaks into the back of “Never Had Nobody Like You” and “Rave On”. These are high-profile figures, so clearly M. Ward is doing something right. The trouble is, I’m still trying to figure out what exactly that is…
I should be able to feel this album’s warm embrace. It should wrap around me like an oh-so-carefully-worn wool blanket, protecting me from the icy New England winter I’m currently living in. It should soothe the Grammy-induced pain in my heart. It should smell and taste like a glorious (and surprisingly appetizing) combination of chicken noodle soup and cookies. This is comfort music. It should make people feel good, assuring them that all their problems (yes, even that blasted economy) will be just fine.
I don’t feel that when I listen to this record. I feel bored. I need help.
M. Ward is, according to Wikipedia, “a singer-songwriter who rose to prominence in the Portland, Oregon music scene.” That sounds pretty good, right? We’ve got a Pacific Northwest connection. Of course everyone loves a good singer-songwriter. Plus, the album sounds like something that couldn’t go wrong: fourteen short tunes, sent out with open arms to spread joy and contentment. That sounds nice doesn’t it? Then why the fuck don’t I like it?
I can’t shake this feeling that M. Ward is, at the heart of the matter, interchangeable with virtually every other indie-folk, guitar-strumming troubadour. He’s got more press and those songs sure do sound purdy, but is there anything that really makes him…distinct? Perhaps, for M. Ward, simply being the go-to guy for Indie 101 is what makes him important. Somehow, in a field of seemingly identical baseball-cap-wearing songwriters, he’s been selected as the standout. He’s been chosen as the flag bearer for respected indie songwriters everywhere, conquering college radio stations and Starbucks with equal ease. And yet…he does nothing for me. I’m a terrible person.
Whatever the reason, M. Ward has sure made some impressive friends over the years, several of whom show up here on Hold Time. Although My Morning Jacket’s Jim James is sadly absent, alt-country supreme deity Lucinda Williams shows up on a fairly routine version of “Oh, Lonesome Me”, adding some much-appreciated scratchiness to M. Ward’s usual honey-soaked tones. Indie goddess Zooey Deschanel, his She & Him collaboration buddy, quietly sneaks into the back of “Never Had Nobody Like You” and “Rave On”. These are high-profile figures, so clearly M. Ward is doing something right. The trouble is, I’m still trying to figure out what exactly that is…
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