Benji
Sun Kil Moon
Released by Caldo Verde Records
I told myself I wouldn’t fall in love with this album. I have not enjoyed any albums by Sun Kil Moon before Benji, and always preferred frontman Mark Kozelek’s work in Red House Painters.
Advance reviews by some of my favourite critics and the glowing enthusiasm of a certain friend of mine hinted that this album was going to change my mind, so I begrudgingly downloaded the leak and put on my headphones expecting another in a line of so-so Sun Kil Moon albums.
I could not make it through the first track without crying. Kozelek hangs his simplistic lyrics over infinitely repeated acoustic guitar pickings, with little to no instruments cluttering the mix. The result is an incredibly focused, almost spoken-word presentation of small-town life, bittersweet musical success, and aging.
Opener “Carissa” is a slowly unraveling story of visiting a half-remembered cousin’s funeral. The song lays down a lyrical template that will be followed for the entire album. It mostly eschews any kind of rhyme scheme, speaks in a conversational tone, and doesn’t adhere too closely to any kind of melody for most of the verses.
Instead, Kozelek lays down plainly his experiences and converses with the listener about how at odds he is with them, trying to make poetry and narrative out of a harsh life that doesn’t necessarily encourage either. As Kozelek half states, half asks about his cousin’s life: “Carissa was 35/you don’t just raise two kids and take out your trash and die.”
Kozelek’s lyrics are supposedly autobiographical, and even if stories are embellished, it’s hard to maintain this doubt while listening to the album. His voice carries an incredible weariness. Like a 47-year-old with 80 years of experience, he paints tragedy and a loss of innocence.
Benji in many ways resembles Bruce Springsteen’s Nebraska, and at times feels like a direct follow-up. It’s unmistakably about small-town America, and rests comfortably upon the grizzly-dude-with-his-acoustic-guitar trope while feeling fresh and engaging for its entirety.
The album’s highlight is by far “Micheline” which begins with a story about a mentally challenged girl Kozelek once knew. He then recounts more stories until working towards memories surrounding his grandmother’s death. On paper this sounds like an emotionally manipulative and cheesy experience, but Kozelek handles these stories with such a matter-of-fact tone that they remain sincere.
Benji is a piece of modern folk that breathes life into, or at least carries the torch, of storytelling over traditional instrumentation. He easily fits into the ranks of Bruce Springsteen, Leonard Cohen, and Vashti Bunyan. The album is definitely not for those looking for a cheery album, but is the perfect companion for a cloudy winter day.
