Philly’s favourite son delivers a tenth LP full of characteristically easy listeners. It’s as endearing as ever, albeit not especially memorable.
Kurt Vile has always been an output guy; on account of his virtuosic style which was nailed down a long time ago, it seems fairly straightforward for him to plug in and get going. Over the past fifteen or so years this has turned out some freewheelin’ classics which recall the elder statesmen of rock’n’roll. But much like a Neil Young, whose greatness and influence is undisputed, the real gems are buried within a back catalogue so vast that it can at times feel like searching for a needle in a haystack. What remains is an extensive collection of very listenable tunes which exist on their own supremely chilled out terms, even if they don’t all stay with you past the first listen.
Vile’s music truly is the personification of his temperament (and vice versa). There’s rarely a sense of urgency, as his vocal delivery relies on mumbled stories which begin in medius res and seem to amble about without much purpose. Describing it in this way may sound reductive, but this is the precise intention with which Vile looks to capture the assuming poetry of everyday life. And this in turn, makes him a deeply likeable and relatable character of total authenticity; just a guy and his guitar who happens to be incredibly good with it.
While other artists may look upon their mid-forties as a time for reinvention, injecting some kind of recent contemporary nuance into their work to remain relevant, Vile does the opposite, trusting his own airtight formula as being a significant defence mechanism against fading into obscurity. But it’s this timelessness to the classic Americana rock’n’roll which shields it from fickle perspective shifts; it doesn’t need to feel grounded within a certain zeitgeist for it to still sound as good as it does.
There is a slightly more existential dimension to the lyrics in his latest LP; possibly on account of finding himself firmly within his middle age, but quite possibly on account of the death of Rob Laakso, a long-time collaborator and bandmate in the Vialators who passed away in 2023. Vile was clearly feeling reflective and grateful for the comforts of the static familiarity of his hometown, as the album’s title alludes to. He acknowledged this musical love letter, even going as far as to say; ‘this is my ‘bringing it all back home to Philly’ record. I’m treating it like my last record. I put everything into it.’
It’s an easygoing record aplenty indicative of an artist who’s completely satisfied with executing his own musical formula. It feels like a safe bet, much like the man himself. Though it might not linger in the memory for long, there’s something comforting about Vile’s consistency in the modern age. The familiarity of that place you call home can’t be overstated, and his love of Philly is as authentic as it comes. It might not be an album of standout tracks, but instead is a cohesive collection of signature Kurt Vile music. Put it this way; if it comes on shuffle, you aren’t skipping it. But you also aren’t double checking who it is. Not that you’d been to, either way.
