Mr. M

Self-described as, “Nashville’s most [messed] up country band,” Lambchop has spent the better part of two decades artfully combining elements of country, chamber pop, and even lounge music. While they experienced something of a breakout with 2000’s Nixon, the band has nonetheless stayed under the radar throughout its career, even among the indie crowd. Admittedly, I hadn’t heard of them myself until this year, when I came across the standout track (“Gone Tomorrow”) on their excellent eleventh album, Mr. M. There have been few truly memorable records this year, with Mr. M being a rare exception.

Great art often arises from adversity, as is the case with Mr. M. Dedicated to the memory of late songwriter Vic Chestnutt (who was a good friend of Lambchop lead singer Kurt Wagner), the specter of death looms over the album like a shadow from which Wagner struggles to escape. Wagner’s vocals have always been understated, but age and emotional turmoil lend them a weariness and resignation that gives the record a greater emotional heft. Wagner often sounds exhausted, as if the loss of Chestnutt has left him pondering the futility of his own existence. This vocal approach suits him well, as he has a severely limited range that hamstrung him at times on Lambchop’s earlier releases. Now, his tired whisper of a voice allows the finely-crafted instrumentation to take center stage, while giving his somber lyrics their full emotional impact.

Lambchop has always managed to skillfully incorporate pianos and strings into their songs, but the arrangements on Mr. M are particularly elegant, perfectly complementing the unmistakable air of sadness. The songs themselves amble along at a leisurely pace, in no hurry to get anywhere, yet never wasting time. While this approach would prove dull in the hands of a lesser band, Lambchop have the chops (pun absolutely intended) to pull it off. Each moment is carefully considered and completely necessary, even on the instrumental tracks, which still manage to be essential components of the album rather than mere interludes.

Most bands that last eleven albums eventually run out of ideas and resort to spinning their wheels. Lambchop is not that type of band. Instead, they have spent the years subtly tweaking and refining their sound as they have matured. Mr. M still sounds like a Lamchop album, but it packs more of an emotional punch than much of their previous work, ensuring that it will stay relevant for years to come.

In an age of instant gratification, when we expect everything and anything to be available immediately, it’s nice to have something that reveals itself slowly, forcing you to listen in and pay attention. This lack of accessibility may scare some away, but those who spend time with it will reap the benefits.