Hanging on to Hanging On
Hyperbolium
Posted On May 25, 2016
Whatever else he’s done, Chris Robley’s bi-coastal habitation of Portland, Oregon, and Portland, Maine, positions him as the answer to a singer-songwriter trivia question. It’s the sort of poetic, yet easily consumed detail that also threads through his songwriting. And though his poetry is filled with imagery and symbolism, his lyrics follow more traditional narratives, albeit with the observational details and sensitivity of a poet. Robley’s sixth album, The Great Make Believer (out March 11 on Cutthroat Pop Records), was written and recorded amid major life changes – including divorce, relocation and romantic renewal – and though the songs aren’t directly autobiographical, it’s easy to spot a very real path of anxiety, confusion, sadness, depression, weariness, relief and rebirth, sewn together by hints of optimism and a helping of catharsis.
Perhaps the most important musical change from previous releases is Robley’s choice to relinquish most of the instrumental duties to bandmates. Where his earlier albums had been insular, overdubbed studio productions, his latest relies not only on other players, but the dynamism of live recording and the shucking of orchestration and production tricks. Though much of the album draws its melodic tint from Robley’s long-time pop inspirations (i.e., the Beatles), several of the songs are stripped to country-tinged basics, with Paul Brainard’s steel and Bob Dunham’s guitar given prominent placement. Their twang pushes Robley to preach on “Lonely People” and underlines the sort of introspective reflections you’d rather not have staring back at you from the mirror.
The album opens with “Eden,” a moment of renewal spurred by the realization that mistakes are the fuel of improvement. The story then rewinds to follow the path of destruction that led to understanding. The betrayals are largely passive, with relationships quietly abandoned and allowed to disintegrate; but the wrong-doings nag the conscience and provoke the sleepless nights of “Evangeline.” The seemingly cheery recovery of “Lonely People” is turned back by self-doubt and apologies geared more to the sender than the recipient. “Silently” closes the album with the no-fault observation that even the brightest fires expire silently. The song’s old-timey vocal and kazoo solo are nice touches, and just two of the album’s many charms. [©2016 Hyperbolium]
