Few artists embody the notion of cult appeal more than Damien
Jurado. With a slew of albums, EPs and tour exclusive releases behind
him, the reserved Seattle songwriter is 15 years into a career which
has almost made flying under the radar an art form. Steadfastly
following his muse, encompassing found recordings and audio fragments,
bleak acoustics and raucous indie-rock, he has borne the results with
equanimity and constantly moved on.
Maraqopa is Jurado's 10th studio album, the second in
collaboration with producer Richard Swift following 2010’s St
Bartlett. That record was another quiet evolution of introspection,
with strings soaking the songs, the mood roaming, even - whisper it -
breezy at times. Maraqopa, however, hints that the wanderlust might be
over, perhaps prompted by recent fatherhood. The domestic dominates
lyrically - rooms, basements, lights, doors and gardens are all
regularly referenced, and the everyday art to be found on his website
suggests an exploration of internal space. Then there’s the title, one
that hints at settling in an idealised, dusty territory, with Damien
duly rocking the South American moustachioed despot look in the smeary
cover photo. That is, we assume it’s him, but it’s difficult to be
totally sure.
It’s a fitting image for the on-going musical redefinition that’s
made plain from the outset. Nothing Is The News starts routinely
enough with a robustly strummed guitar, but soon heralds a change of
agenda, with the slow burning, ride cymbal-driven jam which follows
blowing away any preconceptions of what Maraqopa should be. A fizzing,
swirling bed of disembodied voices, spiralling samples and electronic
flourishes provide the platform for extended, improvised guitar solos
to counterpoint one other, reminiscent of Neil Young.
This, of course, just wouldn’t be a Jurado review without allusion
to Young. Along with the uncompromising career arc, the similar nasal
delivery is also duly present, every inch the comfortable old armchair
of a voice that is Young’s trademark. To extend the analogy, in
working with Richard Swift, Jurado might have now found his Jack
Nitzsche. Maraqopa is clearly a more trusting and true musical
collaboration, a record less about form but more in thrall to texture
and presence, songs coloured in a new way. Where St Bartlett was the
rumoured product of a week’s work, the songs on Maraqopa have clearly
been built carefully from the ground up, the results all the richer
for the purer collaboration.
Lest fans fret, Jurado’s trusty acoustic guitar is still involved
in proceedings, but often at a remove - either present at the start of
tracks before fading in the mix or, where integral, the song itself is
shoved to the end of the record. Jurado diehards may baulk at
discovering that instead there’s white noise, a children’s choir, and a
flirtation with bossa nova. Reel To Reel features virtually no guitar,
bubbling along instead on juddering synth, glockenspiel and the
increasingly prevalent static, sounding like a stuttering diorama. But
fans should persist. Despite the obviously painstaking production, the
results here neither feel overwrought nor underwritten, more the
product of a natural, homemade curiosity.
Subtlety is the order of the day; feet are placed with care. When
the threads come together, as on Life Away From The Garden and Museum
Of Flight, the results are irresistible. On the latter, Jurado forces
his voice through the gears to a croaking, wounded falsetto refrain of
“I’m so broke and foolishly in love”, set over tremulous guitars and
stately synths. It’s an unalloyed joy. Maraqopa is, at times, a
sumptuous sigh of a record, the sound of a man exploring a territory
he’s earned the right to claim as his own.
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