Believe I'm Going Down

A man wakes up and doesn’t recognize himself in the mirror. He spends the rest of the day totally disoriented. His voice is feminine; so is his appearance. On the album cover, he’s wearing what an Abercrombie & Fitch executive might advertise to be old-school Western clothes: pretty jeans, pretty jean-jacket, no scuff marks or wear. He exudes whatever the opposite of toughness is. And yet, according to his lyrics, he’s an outlaw walking down the street, on the verge of self-implosion. The album is perfect for those of us who imagine ourselves to be knights or superheroes or dragons or anything other than the soft-as-pillows programmers we really are.

Sonically, this is old-school folk: a guy with a weird accent, twanging guitars, banjo, etc. Jazzy piano and electric guitar keeps things interesting. Sometimes the lyrics fall away and we enter a five-minute instrumental jam session. This is brilliant stuff from a consistently great artist. I’m not at all surprised to learn that he used to work with the guy who now makes the War on Drugs albums. Try “Pretty Pimpin” or “I’m an Outlaw” or “Lost My Head There.”