Kurt Vile

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Nice write up of The Violators' show on Friday night:... http://t.co/0kw0MwROxM


At a Glance

Nationality: American


Biography

Kurt Vile possesses the unique ability to tie time in knots. You can hear it on his new album Smoke Ring For My Halo from the off – the pinwheeling guitars and reaching atmospheres of ‘Baby’s Arms’ are as strange as they are familiar: a demonstration of how Kurt can put worn methods and sounds through himself and end up with something that isn’t emotionally or sonically obvious. Instead we’re left with a record that contains traces of the past but doesn’t waste precious time in the now being reverent. There would be no use in that for anyone. Once compared to Leonard Cohen, Tom Petty and ... Read more

Kurt Vile possesses the unique ability to tie time in knots. You can hear it on his new album Smoke Ring For My Halo from the off – the pinwheeling guitars and reaching atmospheres of ‘Baby’s Arms’ are as strange as they are familiar: a demonstration of how Kurt can put worn methods and sounds through himself and end up with something that isn’t emotionally or sonically obvious. Instead we’re left with a record that contains traces of the past but doesn’t waste precious time in the now being reverent. There would be no use in that for anyone. Once compared to Leonard Cohen, Tom Petty and Animal Collective in the same breath (for 2009’s Childish Prodigy) he pieces together disparate elements in a way that questions the very nature of what can be considered a classic album. Kurt Vile might belong to that long lineage of classic American songwriters, but he’s the only one who’s alive and in his prime today.

Today Kurt’s music suits him more than ever. This is the fourth time he’s put an album’s worth of songs together and stuck a name on it, but in a sense Smoke Ring For My Halo is his first real album – every flinching guitar arpeggio and vocal wander was made to be here, made with this record in mind, to sit alongside another in situ and in sequence. It seems weird saying this given the amount of ground he’s covered already, but Smoke Ring For My Halo is the perfect way into the music Kurt Vile makes. It’s tender and evocative, elusive but companionable, tough in the gut and the arm but swollen in the chest and giddy in the head. It’s a record that is perfect for any given day during whatever season, to satisfy all moods in every possible scenario – be that first thing in the morning or last thing at night; today, tomorrow or five years from now.

In short, it’s real. Kurt Vile isn’t just the loneliest of ten siblings born to parents on the outskirts of Philadelphia, the former forklift truck driver who makes rock band guitar songs in the solitude of his bedroom. Smoke Ring For My Halo brings all of that together, marrying the introspection of the nocturnal stoner with the exploratory zeal of the troubadour frontiersman to arrive at a record you know is so much more than the sum of his and its constituent parts because often he sounds like he doesn’t know how he got there himself.

And all of these different facets of his character aren’t contradictions – they’re the clues that tell you this a man who’s not working from anyone’s template but his own, who eschews guitar etiquette in favour of a life seeking wisdom through experience, finding pain and relief from pain, capturing the essence of something true and then waking up the next day with a sore head realising you let go of it in your sleep.

This biography was provided by the artist or their representative.

Kurt Vile possesses the unique ability to tie time in knots. You can hear it on his new album Smoke Ring For My Halo from the off – the pinwheeling guitars and reaching atmospheres of ‘Baby’s Arms’ are as strange as they are familiar: a demonstration of how Kurt can put worn methods and sounds through himself and end up with something that isn’t emotionally or sonically obvious. Instead we’re left with a record that contains traces of the past but doesn’t waste precious time in the now being reverent. There would be no use in that for anyone. Once compared to Leonard Cohen, Tom Petty and Animal Collective in the same breath (for 2009’s Childish Prodigy) he pieces together disparate elements in a way that questions the very nature of what can be considered a classic album. Kurt Vile might belong to that long lineage of classic American songwriters, but he’s the only one who’s alive and in his prime today.

Today Kurt’s music suits him more than ever. This is the fourth time he’s put an album’s worth of songs together and stuck a name on it, but in a sense Smoke Ring For My Halo is his first real album – every flinching guitar arpeggio and vocal wander was made to be here, made with this record in mind, to sit alongside another in situ and in sequence. It seems weird saying this given the amount of ground he’s covered already, but Smoke Ring For My Halo is the perfect way into the music Kurt Vile makes. It’s tender and evocative, elusive but companionable, tough in the gut and the arm but swollen in the chest and giddy in the head. It’s a record that is perfect for any given day during whatever season, to satisfy all moods in every possible scenario – be that first thing in the morning or last thing at night; today, tomorrow or five years from now.

In short, it’s real. Kurt Vile isn’t just the loneliest of ten siblings born to parents on the outskirts of Philadelphia, the former forklift truck driver who makes rock band guitar songs in the solitude of his bedroom. Smoke Ring For My Halo brings all of that together, marrying the introspection of the nocturnal stoner with the exploratory zeal of the troubadour frontiersman to arrive at a record you know is so much more than the sum of his and its constituent parts because often he sounds like he doesn’t know how he got there himself.

And all of these different facets of his character aren’t contradictions – they’re the clues that tell you this a man who’s not working from anyone’s template but his own, who eschews guitar etiquette in favour of a life seeking wisdom through experience, finding pain and relief from pain, capturing the essence of something true and then waking up the next day with a sore head realising you let go of it in your sleep.

This biography was provided by the artist or their representative.

Kurt Vile possesses the unique ability to tie time in knots. You can hear it on his new album Smoke Ring For My Halo from the off – the pinwheeling guitars and reaching atmospheres of ‘Baby’s Arms’ are as strange as they are familiar: a demonstration of how Kurt can put worn methods and sounds through himself and end up with something that isn’t emotionally or sonically obvious. Instead we’re left with a record that contains traces of the past but doesn’t waste precious time in the now being reverent. There would be no use in that for anyone. Once compared to Leonard Cohen, Tom Petty and Animal Collective in the same breath (for 2009’s Childish Prodigy) he pieces together disparate elements in a way that questions the very nature of what can be considered a classic album. Kurt Vile might belong to that long lineage of classic American songwriters, but he’s the only one who’s alive and in his prime today.

Today Kurt’s music suits him more than ever. This is the fourth time he’s put an album’s worth of songs together and stuck a name on it, but in a sense Smoke Ring For My Halo is his first real album – every flinching guitar arpeggio and vocal wander was made to be here, made with this record in mind, to sit alongside another in situ and in sequence. It seems weird saying this given the amount of ground he’s covered already, but Smoke Ring For My Halo is the perfect way into the music Kurt Vile makes. It’s tender and evocative, elusive but companionable, tough in the gut and the arm but swollen in the chest and giddy in the head. It’s a record that is perfect for any given day during whatever season, to satisfy all moods in every possible scenario – be that first thing in the morning or last thing at night; today, tomorrow or five years from now.

In short, it’s real. Kurt Vile isn’t just the loneliest of ten siblings born to parents on the outskirts of Philadelphia, the former forklift truck driver who makes rock band guitar songs in the solitude of his bedroom. Smoke Ring For My Halo brings all of that together, marrying the introspection of the nocturnal stoner with the exploratory zeal of the troubadour frontiersman to arrive at a record you know is so much more than the sum of his and its constituent parts because often he sounds like he doesn’t know how he got there himself.

And all of these different facets of his character aren’t contradictions – they’re the clues that tell you this a man who’s not working from anyone’s template but his own, who eschews guitar etiquette in favour of a life seeking wisdom through experience, finding pain and relief from pain, capturing the essence of something true and then waking up the next day with a sore head realising you let go of it in your sleep.

This biography was provided by the artist or their representative.

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