Things Our Bodies Used to Have

Good Willsmith, 2016

I can't quite explain why this record feels like a blues record to me. Maybe it's because I've collected too much music on the outskirts of blues from John Fahey to Loren Mazzacane Connors. Things Our Bodies Used to Have feels cinematic at times, too. The chord progressions on the keyboard are often the sort that fill the long shots of California countryside at night while the director lets the last scene dwell in your mind. That is, until the album starts sounding like a lo-fi, tape-collage, noise album. Which is before the wanky, bluesy guitar soloing kicks in.

Fuck it. I don't know what this album's on about, but it walks that beautiful line between compelling and utterly confounding.