Buck Meek appears hesitant where reinvention is concerned, but this at least results in his fourth solo album being one of various tastes. The Big Thief guitarist knows his worth as a seasoned country singer – preface “country” with “alt” and a hyphen if you wish. You may recall Buck making an appearance on the Illuminati Hotties song u v v p, ditching whatever has become of his current New York escapism to favour the drawl of his Texas homeland, getting personal about the tumbleweed in his blood, delivering a full-accented “darling”. That cameo caricaturises him but it also sums up his reputation, yet no matter what hip, bustling beat he wants to place beneath a flowery keyboard, no matter what kind of descent he makes into so-called “cosmic country”, he remains at his best as a rambler, a Kurt Vile with conventional structures and a fly in his throat, a Hank Williams post-indie band breakthrough.
His legitimacy as that kind of musician is basic; it’s his slurry singing, which is sometimes a little too hushed and indoors-y; it’s his guitar, often strummed by an athlete with a strong wrist. He’s got as much country in his veins as he has love; love for experience, love for love itself, love for family, love for his Big Thief bandmates; you’ll pick up Adrianne Lenker’s voice here-and-there, and the album was produced by James Krivchenia. He has serious love for the growth of his internal monologue, and yes, that’s a good thing; The Mirror – yes that’s the title, I realise this is my first time mentioning it – is poetic but never egocentric. It’s actually his strongest batch of lyrics, the sort that will make you think “wait, have his lyrics always been this good?”. Over his well-mannered, vindicated country vice, and occasional steps into miscellaneous but well-fitting terrains, it is a joy to listen to him lingualise his way around nature, woman and fire on Gasoline (“making words up while we made love”), and then nature, woman and Jesus on Pretty Flowers (“the more I get to know you, the less I know of love”).
There is a starling passage on Soul Feeling that relates to the spirit of a dementia-sufferer remaining intact – “still remembers every word of dirty songs on Bourbon / every line of Auld Lang Syne though acquaintance be forgotten”. This might not be the most revolutionary album you’ve ever heard from a musical standpoint, but its lyrics, such as those just listed, are more than powerful enough to overcome that kind of nerdy dismissal. I’ll praise anybody able to clarify their emotions without dumbing their language down, and Buck does so regularly, calling “me” out whilst remaining at-peace on Heart in the Mirror (“many years I’ve lived in fear of bullies and critics, but now I know the thing they loathe is seeing their own fear in the mirror”), punning up his salute to musical heritage with a marriage proposal on the bright-eyed Ring of Fire (“be my bride, my lover / would you be the mother of my child” one moment, “rock and roll is in my blood” the next).
And he knows how to combine his spoken emotions with those of his music, slipping into a minor third on Demon like one might slip into a particularly emotional coma, citing “last night I lost my temper and punched the wall” on Can I Mend It with a lack of clarity in his mind, getting it on with the multitude of temperamental chords he stuffs into his bars until the composition is broken up on the chorus, literally like a hole punched into a wall. If he was any more revealing, he’d be buck naked.
Best tracks – Gasoline – Can I Mend It? – Demon – Soul Feeling.
Rating – 7.5 out of 10
