Sun Kil Moon
Benji

Summer Listening #3    

Even though it's not quite correct to talk about “summer listening,” I'm including in this brief series of reviews the latest musical effort (the sixth) by Mark Kozelek under the banner of Sun Kil Moon.

“Benji,” although the work of a restless spirit with a problematic past such as the former leader of the Red House Painters, despite the album being driven by a strong introspective push and taking on the features of an inner journey starting from the biographical sphere to extend to reflections of a universal nature, and thus is anything but a light or easily assimilated work, lends itself well to the beautiful season, being luminous, meditative, and evoking mental landscapes which, in the author's mind, are those of the sunny American countryside, characterized by wide spaces, fields of wheat, roads that vanish into nothing, the barking of guard dogs, trees or farms occasionally placed there to break the line of the horizon. A clear sky above the green meadows that characterize an era of innocence and purity, now distant in time, that one intends to evoke, but not in the name of a pathetic and sweetened distortion carried out through the mystifying lenses of a bitter and conscious maturity (Mark Kozelek is now forty-seven years old).  

As it happened in “Nebraska” (of which “Benji” is a direct descendant), the discourse originates from the microcosm of small stories of life, from the apparently insignificant existence of small men and women, of all those who are born, grow, and die in the shadow of the American Dream; a discourse that ends up touching on the classic themes of Life and Death, the complexity/meaninglessness of the former and the inevitability of the latter, and thus injustices, mocking fate, growth, disillusionment, acceptance, and self-discovery through the past. “Benji” is a parade of poignant snapshots drawn from Kozelek's album of memories, and is made of the same substance as the men and women (mother, father, loved ones, friends) that populate the author's inner world, who never before has dared to delve so deeply into himself and his conscience.

Images, portraits, attestations of esteem or simple affection, an emotionality on the verge of shattering, yet solid and capable of constructive impulses, impulses aimed at healing tears believed to be unfixable: all this necessitates that the tracks take on a form suited to the self-therapy process that is underway. Stylistically speaking, the rock component is further eroded in favor of a style of songwriting mainly based on the voice/acoustic guitar duo. Despite a vast ensemble of participants in this album (among which the name of Will Oldham stands out, who will lend his voice to no less than three tracks), the sound relies on the bare minimum, and in this path of centralizing everything around Kozelek's figure (who sings and plays the guitar, bass, and xylophone where necessary), the only relevant contribution remains that of drummer Steve Shelley (not surprisingly the second on the long list), who with his sporadic appearances behind the drums gives a substantial boost to the whole economy.        

Although almost all tracks are of the highest level, many of them linger on a melodramatic languor that may irk those who are not quite fond of a stripped-down indie-folk. It is worth mentioning, therefore, those capable of rising from this state of things. For example, “Truck Driver” (third track) evokes none other than the Leonard Cohen of “Songs of Love and Hate”: in it, Kozelek's voice, soothing in the two previous songs, suddenly turns spectral, and the plucked guitar strings become the tremor of an emotional seismograph threatening immense earthquakes and catastrophes. Then there are “Dogs” (fourth track) and “Pray for Newtown” (fifth track) that develop in a similar way, both forming a sort of mantra originating from the voice with just the guitar, then developing through imperceptible variations until the liberating eruption of Shelley's drums that beats obsessively, completing tracks that could never end.

A special mention goes to “I Watched the Film the Song Remains the Same” (eighth track): a masterpiece within the masterpiece, in its ten-minute duration, it stands thanks to the magnetism of the voice and the sound of Kozelek's words, a poignant stream of consciousness through which the author's childhood is retraced via the symbolic images of the Led Zeppelin documentary from which the song takes its title. “Richard Ramirez died today of Natural Causes” (ninth track) follows the successful (in my opinion) pattern already seen before: one that involves an introduction based on guitar and voice (multiplied this time in a kind of paranoid inner debate) and a continuation/conclusion entrusted to Shelley's rhythmic dictates, breaking the monochromatic setup of the album. “Ben’s My Friend” (eleventh track), finally, carries with it an unexpected radio charm: the sly horns and a Spanish-flavored guitar brighten the threads of a suffering album but which, despite everything, has the strength to close on a note of tone relaxation, relaxation that leaves a good taste in the mouth and invites pressing the play button once more.  
   
Of course, the selection of tracks mentioned was made according to the personal tastes of the writer, but it is important to clarify that even those not listed are excellent examples (especially regarding the lyrical counterpart) of the songwriting maturity reached by the restless former leader of the Red House Painters, the author of an album that forcefully contenders for the coveted title of album of the year. For intrinsic beauty, but also for importance, considering its specific weight within a present-day landscape that is increasingly less capable of producing works to be handed down to History.