Mark Kozelek, the founder of the Red House Painters and current architect of Sun Kil Moon, is one of the most original, emotionally affecting, and haunting songwriters out there. He describes the pain and yearning of love and sexual desire like a monastic singing about the longing to vanish into God. Like that fictional monk, Kozelek's longing will never be fully sated; but outlining the shape of the pain itself becomes a way of talking about how difficult it is to be alive.
Unlike many younger "freak-folk" songwriters in the same vein -- some of whom were deeply influenced by Kozelek's earlier work -- he also radiates a gruff, diffident persona that keeps him from becoming overly precious. His tragic masterpiece "Duk Koo Kim," for instance, was inspired by watching old boxing movies at home. He reinvents AC/DC and Modest Mouse tunes as if they'd been written by the love-child of Hank Williams and Nick Drake. Onstage, he often seems less-than-comfortable, breaking off his elaborate finger-picking patterns perfunctorily, or rushing through the lyrics, as if the songs are too personal to be exhibited in a mere nightclub full of inevitably chattering, cell-phone-toting yuppies. Thankfully, neither of those tics plague these tracks, selected from a recent acoustic tour with former RHP rhythm guitarist Phil Carney.
Kozelek's treatments of his songs are both reverent and fresh. "Salvador Sanchez" -- a Crazy Horse-inspired electric firestorm on Sun Kil Moon's superb "Ghosts of the Great Highway" -- sounds like a traditional folksong about a sainted culture-hero in this version. Only Kozelek could take the well-toasted Christmas chestnut "The Little Drummer Boy" and make it resonate with the call of a soul in desolation. The Cars' "All Mixed Up" -- a dynamic multilayered electric creation on RHP's masterpiece "Songs for a Blue Guitar" -- is played in a hush, with a trembling voice that suggests that the refrain "everything will be all right" is nowhere near the truth. The only misstep on "Ghosts" was a pumped-up version of "Lily and Parrots" that obliterated the song's wistful lyrics under a mushroom cloud of feedback; here, the song is resurrected acoustically with crystal clarity. One of the most poignant tracks on this album is a new tune called "Unlit Hallway," which pairs a melody worthy of a classic ballad with aching lyrics like "breathe my love, wake my love," as if the singer was a sad god whose power to raise the dead was starting to slip.
Nearly every track on this record is lovely, though "Mistress" is marred by overuse of a falsetto vocal technique that was spine-chilling when Kozelek employed it during live versions of "Evil," but here just sounds like a jokey trumpet-imitation that goes on way too long.
I didn't give this record five stars only because Kozelek's treatments of the songs are rather similar, lending the album a somewhat monochromatic feel. But it's a beautiful monochrome, and consider this a 4-and-a-half-star review, because it's still a great album. Fans of introspective music that sustains a poignant mood while addressing the darkness at the heart of love should not hesitate to pick it up.