Hailing from Vermont doesn’t necessarily get a lot of respect in the music world, but being the son of Bob Gruen, one of the most well known music photographers, certainly does. Bob has captured everyone from Dylan and Lennon to The Pistols and The Clash. He witnessed the birth of rock and the slow demise and got it on film. So how exactly do you follow in those footsteps? You don’t. So you play guitar instead.
Part of It All, Kris Gruen’s sophomore release, begins as a bright Sunday morning skipping through a park on a relaxing summer day. The sun is shining high and the only thing weighing you down is a tote full of smiles. You prance through the grass, sing with the birds, and hang out under trees. But when you finally get lost in the tired imagery and can’t remember how to get home, the day becomes a trying task of survival. You need a sense of direction to find where you want to go, which is exactly what Kris Gruen seems to be missing on this album.
The minimal instrumentation is too often not enough, the harmonies appear far out of place, and the moments that seem fairly strong and likeable, are hardly worth waiting for. Harshness aside, I would be slightly curious as to how these songs might sound in a more intimate atmosphere. Perhaps, a dark coffee bar or a lonely Subway car, but any place to instill the raw thought of realism back into this material. Because on record, the songs just seem too empty. Ultimately, Part of It All is a ripe synecdoche that never quite decides what it is a part of.
Time has been harsh on all of us whether we want to admit it or not. The past is, at best, a disheartening trial and error process gone horribly awry at the exact wrong moments. This woman or man at this exact point is but an idea, and as a friend at work told me recently, “We’ll all turn to dust anyway, so it doesn’t matter.” What a boring thought, then, the past. The Wooden Birds have a past. Look them up on the interwebs and learn that past. For me, this is an album that arrived in my hands months after it debuted, but has had a wonderful effect on me, their past projects be damned. They are the proof of a world where style is substance; where lyrics that are mere representations of other lyrics make sense, fit perfectly and craft a world that does not need to matter. Magnolia is an album of repetition and it spills over itself with no overwhelming leaps. Magnolia is a good album that relies on the specific talents of The Wooden Birds and asks nothing more of the listener than to let style serve its purpose. Analyzing is for the weak, we are all mired in our past, forward thinking is for the (wooden) birds. Take the face value once in a while and maybe, just maybe, you can grieve less on your petty failings and just look out the window and smile at humanity. If we are to die, then let “Choke,” “Hailey” and “Sugar” be our funeral marches. This album is a bloodless non-revolution. I’m for it and so be it and all that. If we are to be dust, let Magnolia lead us home. It might be the most relaxed we’ve been in this life since we cried upon entering.
