For one reason or another, John Moreland is a songwriter who comes in and out of my life. Typically entering back in when I need his songs and inspiration the most. With each re-entry a vocalized “why the fuck haven’t I been listening to this lately?” floats from my lips.

You see, Moreland’s writing pierces like an arrow through even the thickest of hides. He has a way to cut so deep that it cuts through bone and sinew. Every time you listen, a little piece of you seems to become embedded in the songs. His songs are heavy. His delivery, sometimes deadpan and gristled in a way that echoes the severity of his words. There is a beauty in that approach. Beauty in the hurt. Beauty in the honesty.

 

‘LP5’ – as the name suggests – marks Moreland’s 5th release. The album as a whole feels a slight polish to the arrangements and recording. There is vibe here. The second track, “A Thought is Just a Passing Train” emits sepia toned scenes, a bit of a The Band landscape and funky soul to the thump of the bass. John’s voice pattering over the top of reverberating pools of keys and guitars. You get lost, swallowed up by the subtle swagger. 

The diversity of feeling, emotion and audible texture is nothing to scoff at. Moreland can be soft and soothing when he needs and wants to be and gruff and gristled at other times. Lending the record to be a listening experience, rather than just an album to toss on. It has its ups and downs, just like life. There is hope and light here, and it outweighs the grief or seld-deprecation that he has previously been praised for encompassing. Sad songs may make me happy and he has penned some of the best, but LP5 proves that Moreland is a songwriter sitting a cut above the rest no matter the context or content of the song. 

He sings with a confidence I am not sure I have heard from him previously. He knows this is where he is supposed to be and these songs are meant to be heard far and wide.

But, in the end, its still the potency of his words that drive to the core of your being as a listener.