Wit’s End
Cass McCombs
Domino Records.
Well I’d had a lot
to drink; that should be mentioned forthright. We’d celebrated a friend’s
birthday all afternoon and evening until only a late-night bus – the last one
available – dropped me off about thirty minutes from my apartment. The usually hectic
four lanes of St. Laurent stretched vacantly and the May breeze felt mild as
Cass McCombs attuned my ears to his slow allure. A sound patient but rewarding,
Wit’s End turned my half hour journey into an hour-long promenade which reveled
the full sorrow of ‘Memory Stain’ as much as the tender romance of ‘The Lonely
Doll’.
That walk wouldn’t
have felt so majestic had I even half-liked Wit’s End beforehand. But I didn’t;
on initial spins, this record seemed like a bore, with ‘County Line’ in
particular sounding like some anemic AM Radio misfire from the 70s. But that’s
precisely the track that wormed passed my skepticism while I sat inebriated on
the bus; the quirks of its dated arrangement began to shape a bittersweet
momentum and McCombs’ mournful vocals create this immensely fragile chorus.
From there I was hooked.
Which brings me back
to the beginning: I’d had a lot to drink and the languid, depressing Wit’s End
should’ve been the last album on my iPod to sustain a late-night buzz. It’s
slow – by god it’s slow – but McCombs’ ornate arrangements and distinctive
vocals stand in sharp contrast to the shallow balladry of the average
singer-songwriter. Wit’s End isn’t about stroking the catharsis that feels
neglected at a given time; it’s about uncovering the emotions you’d forgotten that matter.
1 comment:
Love this review. Yea, it's pretty slow but by the end of this song, I'm pretty into it.
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