Welcome to the Badlands
Where the sky expands and you and I expire
With “Little Wide Open” Kevin Morby creates a new (the third) heartfelt tribute to the places of the Midwest. Between myth and material reality, the “badlands” now relocated by Morby to the center of America (“Javelin”) devour those who pass through them: under the overwhelming grandeur of the firmament and along the expanses of lavender “we are just passengers passing through”. But they are also places far from the frenzy of the metropolis, perfect for rest, at least until the tornado sirens sound.
Heaven or hell, then? If probably only those who lived there can answer this question (but even Morby himself doesn't seem to have reached a conclusion), one cannot deny the dazzling beauty that exudes from the American's new work: from his lyrics and Dylan-style story-telling art, of course, but also from the warm and enveloping folk-rock instrumental section, taken care of in every single detail by Aaron Dessner in the role of producer.
While the first half of the album is driven by the more rhythmic songs, by the marked presence of electric instruments, by the songs on the roadthe second part settles around the figure of the singer-songwriter, immersed, together with his trusty guitar, in boundless landscapes: “No one ever makes a sound/ except me on this guitar”, Morby dits in “Cowtown”. In the center is the title trackthe beating heart of the collection, in which, for more than eight minutes, the musician meditates on the passage of time, on the transitory nature of life and its relationship with the slowest geological rhythms.
But, once attuned to the peace of the Midwest, the songwriter and the environment mix and transform. The human body splits into multitudes, absorbs the infinity of highwayopens up in a prism of emotions and comes into deep contact with the person with whom he or she is in a relationship. He himself becomes “a little wide open” and above all he makes peace with what no longer seems to be the enemy to beat: “Time, we share the same dream/ to stretch on forever, towards eternity/ to be a little wide open/ to drift on forever, where nobody knows us”.
The epic breath of the Midwest is replaced by elegiac singing in the final songs, in which our passage on Earth is reflected in the eternal cycle of life and death. Cacti, sunflowers, jasmine flowers, dandelions, but above all cockroaches, butterflies and fireflies become the symbol of the ephemeral nature of the human species. Travel companions from whom we can take an example for their heroic resistance to storms or for those daring acrobatic flights along busy highways, which, even if they mostly end with a fatal crash on car windows, reveal an indomitable yearning for self-determination: “It's not suicide if I die out chasing thrills/ just me trying to grow wings/ field guide for the butterflies”.
After all, Kevin Morby has been dealing with his – with our – transience for many years. Now, with one of his best works, he seems to have made peace with death, with the latest companion on a journey that, although short, is damn intense.
06/27/2026
Daniel D`Amico for SANREMO.FM
