Marc Ford’s one-minute acoustic opener, “If I’d Waited,” exudes the sparse atmosphere of poetry, reminiscent of both Wendell Berry and W.S. Merwin for the similarity of titles and images: Berry’s “To the Holy Spirit” (“Whose truth is light and dark, mute though spoken/By Thy wide grace show me Thy narrow gate”) and Merwin’s “Rain Travel,” with its lonely journey and the sound of a stream rushing into the darkness. The track ends with a background of birds chirping and the sound of swiftly moving water.
This is not an album to be taken lightly. Sure, it can be enjoyed on a basic level, but for the attentive listener the songs go deep — it takes a quiet afternoon to fully appreciate this extended hymn to a complicated life transformed by the redemptive power of love and grace. All is not churchy introspection, however; the song “Sometimes” closes with a subtle tambourine drop.
A guitarist and songwriter from an early age — weekends were spent alone in his room, teaching himself guitar – Ford found refuge and sanctuary in music as a spiritual escape from a rough childhood. As an adult, his narcotic and hallucinogenic excesses as lead guitarist for the Black Crowes are well documented, and the man has admittedly made big mistakes in his personal life, but certainly has no regrets musically. On this his second solo record since 2008, he’s teamed with members of Bristol-based Phantom Limb, for whom he produced the 2012 album The Pines. They’ve returned the favor, with guitarist Stew Jackson producing, and the results are impressive. The sound has an easy warmth that reflects Ford’s San Clemente surf town, and the tracks are rich with pedal steel, Hammond organ, piano, mellotron and banjo. His wife Kirsten and son Elijah also contribute vocals and guitar, respectively.
It’s a mostly understated album, as not everything has to be said with flash and exclamation. Patience and soul can’t be forced. The vibe is pure laid-back Laurel Canyon folk/rock, full of love, gratitude and promises of faithfulness. Again, there are deeper emotions at work. As it turns out much of the album is a love song to the eponymous ghost who appeared at the lowest point in Ford’s life. Once you’re aware of this, the allusions to this higher power become crystal clear, especially on “Blue Sky”, “I’m Free”, “Dream #26” and “In You.” Grace and redemption abound, and the Rev. Al Green even gets a mention. On “Badge of Descension” he lays it all out there, naming God specifically: “I sink to a place it hurts me to bend / I cry out to God, won’t you take this away once again.”
The album is a document of Ford’s arduous journey from that lonely childhood room, to the peak of rock music success, down to the darkest valley of despair, and finally back to the spirit of musical creativity that first saved him. Though it took long years for him to get to this place in his life and career, it seems this is the album he was destined to make all along.
