Rostam Batmanglij has crafted an album entirely out of good intentions. If I wanted to be a complete asshole, I’d say “for once”. Guess I’ve said it now. Guess I’m an asshole.
American Stories is his road to hell – not to be confused with The Road to Death, which is a song from the album. Where the vibrant, dreamy everythings of Half-Light were met with shit-eating laugh-singing and dreck like Rudy, Changephobia had the opposite problem; a dead-eyed lack of substance until Kinney’s moonlit saxophones offered some one-and-done relief. While ill-prepared, American Stories strikes a balance. Its birthright is humanising; Rostam is crushed and enticed by Americana, crushed and enticed by the American dream, sans definitive answers; motivation enough for a spiritual journey through his Iranian heritage at a moment in history in which American-Iranian conference is…messy?
Of course, Rostam uses the moment to spark his conscience, not just for his sense of self or familial obligation, but Palestine on Come Apart, before preparing an anthem for tomorrow’s hope on The Weight, blessing the future as optimistic as the youth that reels it – “you’ve got courage on your side”.
As The Weight makes a startling climax out of baglama, Rostam confirms his olive branch of Persianism and Westernism to be primarily musical. Could he have done more? Yes. The truly breathtaking instrumentals of American Stories are those that utilise the baglama, or provide Persian/Middle Eastern motifs in other manners, but they are too few, particularly once you consider that the alternative is Hardy’s ill-fitting violins, less hideous than the Victorian strings of Vampire Weekend’s Rich Man, yet they still have the opposite effect of the intended kooky, dadaist set piece.
When Rostam does slip in his baglama, he is otherworldly. Somehow, he manages to do so over the trucker’s disposition – acoustic guitar-licking, drunk-singing – of Like a Spark. He’s effectively bridging Western and Asian folk whilst on his poet’s kick, slipping from basic elegies of freedom to comparing himself to a spark hanging from the ceiling.
The baglama reappears on Forgive Is to Know, texturally suiting its cuddly composition, though Rostam’s subtly wacky voice feels like an unnecessary crutch. The melodies and chords are beautiful, and warrant no idiosyncrasy. Luckily, he’s less clingy on To Feel No Way.
He can still write and perform an enjoyable, thought-provoking song if the folk is solely American, case-in-point The Road to Death; a mortality-obsessed plunge into country twang – “some of us are dying slowly, and some of us are dying faster / all of us are at the doctor’s office, and some are maybe staying after”.
I still wish he didn’t feel the need to brighten up folk. He does so on Different Light with dancing drums, cute vocal melodies and cuter lyrics that bounce from mental dichotomy to conclusiveness. There’s something yucky about it, albeit something darling at the same time. It harkens to the better compositional elements of Half-Light – the harmonic, melodic overtness – whilst Back of a Truck does so with a dreamlike quality to its possessed, undone take on indie rock; even if it dabbles in Americana, it is the Rostam we’ve come to expect. It comes with a brief Middle Eastern party montage, and odes to a love worn away but stitched back together with Dylan references.
Rostam has it in him to keep an album interesting throughout its entirety but just tends to trip himself up. If it wasn’t the in-album lulls, it’d be his overly warm style of production. Still, despite the potential woodenness – still far from uniform – of this sound style, I’d happily class American Stories as Rostam’s most humanising work. One can indicate as much from his improved style of singing, still slurring, but his slurs used to contain corny laughter, whereas now they contain soul.
Best tracks – Like a Spark – The Road to Death.
Rating – 6 out of 10
