And suddenly the album you don't expect appears! After months and months spent searching the next big thingwondering if the Cure's return is worth more than the latest Fontaines Dc or if The Smile project is just the last hope for diehard Radiohead fans, an unexpected and colorful sound artefact is preparing to conquer a place in the indomitable soul of the compulsive and increasingly distracted listener.
Clearwater Swimmers' debut is the “Trinity Sessions” of current times, an agnostic album, which exudes a spirituality that knows no hope, an album apparently similar to country-rock, which feeds on slowcore anguish, on the dark melancholy of Red House Painters, of the indolent anger of Neil Young's Crazy Horse, of the poetry of Elliott Smith and Jason Molina, spitting it in the listener's face with a breath that seems like a breath.
“The Clearwater Swimmers” is the fruit of a long-cultivated passion, it is the meeting between two artistic soul mates who met thanks to an exchange of emails and demo.
When Sumner Bright (already operational under the moniker Twiches) moved from Maine to New York, guitarist Sander Casale was impressed by the quality of the raw compositions scattered across the web, so he contacted Sumner, involving him in a more complex project: recording the songs with a real band and then test them in the live dimension.
With the drummer Timothy Graff and the bassist and singer Connor Kennedy the band finally embarked on a short tour: the understanding was lightning-fast, overwhelming, the performances live have grown visibly and the Clearwater Swimmers have decided to write down these ten songs in just three days.
Sumner Bright's soothing yet melancholy rough voice and the remarkable qualities of guitarist Connor Kennedy are the flesh and blood of an apparently ordinary album. Add to this some highly inspired writing and a vibrant fit between the two guitars, and it's immediately magic.
The powerful country-rock of “Valley” opens the dance by sliding between residues southern and echoes of the Doors, which explode in the fiery final guitar duel between Sumner and Connor.
This happy union between vocal quality and musical intensity is even more evident in the short but intense “River”, a slowcore compendium which crystalline guitar touches pierce with elegance, evoking the best pages of the Silver Jews. If the comparison with Red House Painters and Elliott Smith seems risky, just immerse yourself in the piano textures of “Let Us Be Strangers” or the harsh acoustic guitar notes of “Radiant” to dispel the doubts.
The more decisive rhythmic step of the single that preceded the album, “Heaven's Bar”, for a moment refers to the best Drive By Truckers, but beyond the many references, what is truly surprising is the constant energy of the performances: the relevant qualities of the two guitarists keep the emotional tension firm, while the songs flow fluidly and melodically confident, between psych-folk openings (“Man Of God”), thrilling vocal performances that muddy the alt-country waters (“Firewood”) and a powerful excursion more typically rock (“Kites”).
“Proud” breaks the heavy and melancholy solemn tone of the album for a moment, a song that will delight Rem fans, yet another proof of the quality of the writing but also of the intelligent and expert arrangements.
But the song that most of all certifies the band's state of grace is the fragile “Weathervane”, a short ballad that smells of desert places, abandoned houses, past suffering, a musical fragment that drips with emotions and ingenuity, revealing experimental attitudes which could bear further good results in the future. A revelation.
28/10/2024
Antonio Santini for SANREMO.FM