Speaking volumes without actually speaking a word is a difficult venture to tackle. Compound that with the fact that such a record is coming from one of the strongest songwriting and vocal talents in roots music today, and some folks may already pass their judgements well in advance of digging in their heels and listening. To make the claim that I am about to make as someone who adores not only the writing and vocals of Andrew Marlin, but also tends to gear towards songwriting with a concretely communicated narrative via words sung at me in sequence, well some might say its preposterous.

But here I go: Buried in a Cape is (in my opinion) the best record to be released in 2018. For those of you who are already fans of instrumental music, this will be your go to for years to come. For those who are not fans of instrumental music, listen to this album and then I’ll say “welcome to the club”.

Perhaps the most telling reasoning for my feelings on this record is that with each listen I find something new and a new favorite song of the collection. Peeling back the layers, again and again. It is exciting. It has moments of vulnerability. Moments of beauty. Moments of hesitance. And the record in its entirety is a collection of brilliance. You cannot fully appreciate just how good it all is without mentioning the players that brought Marlin’s arrangements to life. Eli West (guitar, banjo), Christian Sedelmyer (fiddle), and Clint Mullican (bass) each brought their own flavor to these songs and amplified them in a way that shows the care and love they had for them. Each of them, a virtuosic purveyor of their craft, but together there are moments of auditory nirvana that can only be described as those moments when you are listening to music and it excites you so much that you smile, bob your head and murmur or mouth a “hell yeah” to yourself. The sounds overtake you and those uncontrollable ticks or motions that your body is forced into is the sound moving the air and forcing these motions on you. The groove.

There is a transformative effect to his writing as an instrumentalist. I feel as though some of even the most well known traditionals don’t come close to encompassing their song’s titles. But the urgency prevalent in the mandolin runs of “Chasing My Tail” is uncanny. At times seeming like the rhythm and flow will almost be lost, but it never does. That feeling, that phrase is fully realized in the arrangement of the tune. Pushing the musical bounds of each of the four players in a way that exudes exhilaration and anticipation of the next flurry of notes to cascade from the finger board.

Punctuated two tracks later by the melancholia and sadness of the slow dance of “Arthela’s Waltz”, the record is able to tell a story without the use of the English language. As the tremolo dots the end of each phrasing and this empty and hollow feeling of a blue-gray hued Sunday afternoon of pensive thought and reflection seem to dance behind my eyes. I visualize so much in those moments courtesy of this band’s excellence and emotion injected into each and every note.

It is really quite amazing to have a recorded view into how far the bounds of Marlin’s talent stretch. If you were to take a collection of the “roots” artists releasing instrumental albums in the past decade I would venture to guess you would see a few genres mashed up together. Bluegrass-jazz fusion ala Dawg. Maybe some celtic sprinkled in. Perhaps some folk or even a flamenco vibe here and there. But, with Marlin, the boundaries of where to specifically pin this collection of songs is completely erased. There is a seamless flow from tracks like ‘Poppyseed’ that have an almost Charlie Chaplin, silent movie-esque feel to them into a very trad feeling ‘Mousetrap in the Oven’, with its grassy feeling kick off and interchanging A and B parts. The amount of ground that is covered over the course of 14 tracks is expansive and deep. Almost a lesson in “this is how you are supposed to play these instruments” and how influence can span across unlimited spaces and still the continuity of the anthology feels so natural. 

On name alone, I constantly revisit ‘Life Without Coffee’ because, well, it evokes that feeling for me. The automated thought process of “wake up and ready to start up a pot of that black bean brew that keeps me going” that slowly ascends into a far off feeling of “will I get my caffeine” as the volume lessens and the tone softens. A blank stare at your french press as it sits what seems like a mile away and you cannot reach it. And the urgency and desperation build in the notes flurrying from there. The pure, unadulterated genius of this group of musicians realizing Andrew’s arrangements cannot be stated enough. I am hard pressed to believe that you will find another recording from contemporary artists that will be able to measure up to the gifts encompassed on this album. I cannot remember the last time I was this excited about a record each time I push play and see that reddish water color album cover pop up on the screen or in my hand.

Sometimes words are not needed to tell a story. To invoke potent feelings and instill emotions. And, more often than not, literary device is not a proper or adequate way in which to describe those very rare special collections of songs. Sometimes you just have to listen and feel that for yourself…