The telling trait was me talking to myself after my third listen to this album. I was walking to work and said, “Fuck my balls. I like this album. Fuck.” It’s New York City. Millions of people and no one to talk to most of the time. You see, there are albums that, upon first and continuous listens, should have flaws. Even someone into new folk records as much as me knows that, on paper, a band like A Weather should annoy the shit out of me. Male-female lead singers, little or no musical tension, and sprinkled-in lines like the one at the beginning of opener “Third of Life”: “And the small birds make cute shadows on the white pond and the brick wall and the woodshed.” I normally hate bird imagery and cute singing. Normally.
But Everyday Balloons is not normal. It’s dark and twisted at times. It’s cute and disarming at times. It’s beautiful and wispy at times. It’s harsh and painfully honest at times. And it is painstakingly good most of the time. Sure, there’s off-putting moments like nonsense-nature-talk or relationship-rock, but it all moves toward a better end. By the end of “Third of Life,” it is clear that wincing moments like the aforementioned bird line are few.
Still, A Weather takes a minute to get going. I’m not hooked, even at the end of the reviewing process, until the Aaron Gerber and Sarah Winchester come together to sing “All that I need is/ to steadily breathe in/ and let it out slowly” as the chorus of the second song. “Winded” is a straightforward chamber-folk number and it leads nicely into the delicate “Ducks.”
None of the songs, separately, are impressive at first, “Ducks” being no exception. This may not make any sense, but connections aren’t formed through the sound of one song. I was never, at any point, jolted (with one exception) into being a fan of Everyday Balloons. Instead, I was impressed at the ability to string together quality songs until my epiphany on 12th street.
That epiphany came after listening to “Seven Blankets” followed by the one exception I referred to (”Midday Moon”). “Seven Blankets’ is a slow-moving song, but one that gathers speed like the storm it references. There is an ice storm, two people with a past and the explanation of change. All of it is so delicate, that the inclusion of a second guitar late in the song threatens the fragility of the story. The storm itself arriving rattles the listener more than the storyteller, however. Preparations were made: “We have enough food saved up for weeks.” “Just before the pipes froze/ I ran the faucet/ and filled up the tub.” The passing of the storm is just as easy as the arrival, preparing the listener for the jarring, “Midday Moon.” A song about a nosebleed and a seemingly failed relationship, it begins “You once were a dish sponge/ now you clean tile/ in the bathroom/ where sponges go to die.” This is, without a doubt, one of the most original metaphors ever, right? The second verse defines her problem: “You can hit me again in the nose.” She even jokes before singing, “It’s not funny/ in the end/ but it helps to laugh/ until then.” I can’t stop quoting this damn song (song of the year thus far?). “A Broom sweeping up it’s own bristles… I’m so much stronger than anyone knew.” The only song that goes solo, it is only Winchester and a piano. And it is the most dynamic on the album.
The second half of the album features more of the same. And it is all solid. “No Big Hope” builds into disaffected clarity with heavenly verse: “God has his hands in every stand of trees that offers shame/ You couldn’t love me with the buzzing that drove peace away.” It leads into the devastating chorus: “It will. Someday it will. God willing, it will.” The song hinges on this line and delivers. Upbeat, “Fond” is a reminder that love is terrible, even when wrapped in pretty packaging. “Giant Stairs,” the penultimate track and the single, has a dark melody and uses landscape and imagery to lead into a big ending line: “It’s not the fall should be afraid of/ it’s the quick stop.” The entire song is fear and dread, so the vagueness of their closing is merely a product of the whole.
And that is the mainstay anyway. This is not an album that hinges on one song or line. It’s a complete album that needs to have time set aside to evaluate it. It’s not a traveling album. It’s not, as you can probably tell, a party album, background noise or a passing thought. Everyday Balloons is a well-orchestrated letter from a former lover or a slow-developing and depressing movie. It needs to be heard in silent contemplation. Even as “Lay me Down” trudges toward seven minutes, it commands a full hush. “Why should we rely so much/ on new things to replace the old/ and strong light/ from the giant lamp/ that warmed us/ as we went to sleep?” Even in a passing image, A Weather reminds us that simple thoughts can feed into a greater relevance. Much like their album, A Weather beckons without commanding attention. Even when I resisted them, they had to be heard. Perhaps they said it best: “What should I keep and what’s worth letting go?” It’s the question none can answer so boldly as they have tried to.
