Waldemar
Ruthless
I hear “Eau Claire, Wisconsin,” and my ears perk up. I got Ruthless, the debut release of Waldemar in my inbox for consideration and immediately felt a connection. I’m a bit obsessed with the heartland lately. Music from “the middle” has a component of unpretentiousness I crave but with the sophistication of some of the country’s best cities — even if they aren’t always recognized as such.
Singer-songwriter Gabe Larson is the driving force behind this indie rock band. They are described as a War on Drugs, with The National and a hint of Willie Nelson mixed in.. Hmm. I’m hearing all this but also a splash of My Morning Jacket. Now that we’ve established who they sound like, let’s talk about who they don’t.
The first three tracks floored me. “Limbo” comes in strong with confessional songwriting against texture upon texture to announce what this album is about.
I’m caught low/in the shadows/I’m the only one here/Cause I only hear what I want to hear…
This isn’t a timid folk track. It’s commanding and breaks into some assertive guitar breaks that read like an anthem. I’m still not hearing a Willie Nelson vibe, but I have a feeling we will get there.
The title track turns inward, like a prayer of sorts. As I listened on repeat I still couldn’t place a more familiar frontman of any band to compare this to — hints of the artists mentioned above, but not what I’d call a clone. Like the run-down horse barn on his property, renovated into a studio for this recording over five years, Larson’s voice is that of a tradesman. He works with his hands. He sands floors and works with wood. Add in the relentless darkness of Wisconsin winters, and your voice begins to sound more like the surroundings. Beautiful and at times beaten. It’s honest and so heartland. This is where I hear Willie Nelson.
With his brother and bandmate Nick Larson, Colin Carey (drums), Josh Garcia (guitar), John Roemhild (bass), and Jordan Coffland (keys), Larson solicited help from other Eau Claire musicians to create a personal tapestry worthy of all the labor that went into the studio, built over what had to feel like unending seasons.
While the front half of the album felt strong off the bat, I had to dig in over a period of time to find the remainder chewable. “Prophet” has a coarse synth percussion bed that is harder for my brain to accept after the more melodic intro tracks. The lyrics make up for it, however, as they do throughout the record. “Torrid” paints the stark Wisconsin winterscape so well, from the point of view of an artist who might be having doubts about where everything is heading. Winter does that to us. We are wired to go inward, and that’s when doubt sneaks up.
“Waldemar” is a lovely tribute to the band’s namesake, Larson’s grandfather. It’s my favorite track, pensive and confessional. It’s forgiving of hurts and wondering about how difficult patterns can be broken.
This is where we see inside that barn-turned studio and feel the splinters set to melody and doubts that give way to “this is good.”
This is good. Give it some time. I gave it a change of seasons to sink in, and it was worth it. Waldemar does sound like some of your favorite artists at times, perhaps with a hint of Willie Nelson. Who Waldemar doesn’t sound like, is a band trying to mimic anyone. It’s authentic music, as unpretentious as the heartland.
