| 1. The heavens open up and God's hairy forearm shoots forth from the clouds, slapping the word SONGWRITER across your body's fragile avatar. And now the question: is it a calling or is it a curse? Will you draw the sword from the lake, victorious and gleaming? Or will your skin crawl with boils, your crops alight in conflagration? Is the habit of songwriting something rewarding and nutritive, like gardening? Or is it more of a dirty tic, like bumming a cigarette every time you drink two beers? Is writing songs a job? A holy duty? Or is it just an occasionally rewarding hobby? And if I do heed my destiny, just how the fuck am I supposed to pay for healthcare? |
| 2. Such are the celestial backyard wrestling matches that make up ’s fourth LP. I SING, what a phrase – chief songwriter Caleb Cordes wields a DIY lifer's gallows humor as he tries to carve out a niche in stone with a grapefruit spoon, speaking truth to streaming royalties and trust fund powers. Crucially, though, never says "fuck you" to the listener - instead Cordes shakes his head, laughing, and says instead "fuck me.” How preposterous it is to be yoked to song, how silly to squeeze considered noise into plastic, how absolutely goofy is it that any of us listen, that any of us are moved. And in some unlikely screwball miracle, within the vanishing middle class vocation of singing for your supper, achieves the improbable: grace, resonance, a truly great collection of tunes |
| 3. — Ben Seretan |
| 4. Tracklist: |
| 5. 1.01 - - Doesn't Matter |
| 6. 1.02 - - I Sing |
| 7. 1.03 - - How |
| 8. 1.04 - - Challenger |
| 9. 1.05 - - Birthday |
| 10. 1.06 - - Laughing |
| 11. 1.07 - - Country Mile |
| 12. 1.08 - - $2 Million |
| 13. 1.09 - - Dollar |
| 14. 1.10 - - Window Blue |
| 15. 1.11 - - Best Witness |
| 16. 1.12 - - Attack |
| 17. 1.13 - - Younger Brother |
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