Bon Bon Pistolet: Songs of Love and Sunshine

In the midst of the unrelenting chaos that is my work life of late (or perennially, if I'm not being self-delusional), the following two albums have provided shelter from the storm, one an incredibly happy accident, the other a much-awaited follow-up. The former refers to what I still worry is a sign of my ever-fragmenting sanity --an album that was never released by an artist that seemingly never was. Honestly, if I didn't have a copy of it and hadn't been playing it on endless repeat the last month, I'd be sure I'd made the whole thing up. I don't even remember how I heard about him to first start sniffing around -- all I had was his name scribbled on one of my myriad Post-It notes, an apparent message from Providence written during a divinely inspired blackout. If this is the price of losing your mind, though, it's one well worth paying.

The album is 25 Songs and the artist is Jay Jay Pistolet (British folk singer Justin Hayward Young), but dig around on the internet and that's about the extent of what you'll be able to find. The album is not available commercially, and it appears the extent of Pistolet's official catalog is a lonely pair of singles released over two years ago. Yet somehow this magnificent album exists -- 25 songs of sheer and utter perfection. Songs about love, ladies, and the finer things in life (the few that exist outside those first two categories, that is); songs so peaceful and pretty they make your heart ache and knees weak with every listen.

There's folk songs, honkytonk pop blasts, whispered confessionals, and tiny electro raves. The last album that packed so much variety and heart into a single offering is the one that feels like this one's big brother, the Magnetic Fields' masterpiece 69 Love Songs. Like that album (one of my absolute favorites), this one is busting at the seams with charm and emotion, routinely leaving you on the edge of smiling or crying from the all loveliness. Songs like "Friend, We Weren't Even Lovers," "I Can't Let Go," "The Secrecy of Mon Amie," and "Holly" are absolutely devastating, shotgun blasts of beauty straight to the chest.

Then there are the songs that sound like they were unearthed from a time capsule or the ruins of some ancient civilization. "Saint Michel," "Vintage Red," "Come On," and "Postmodern Blues" sound like they should be coming out of the window of some house as you walk on the bank of the Seine in early century Paris or out of the dusty horn of a gramophone in some Victorian-style lounge. The effect is beguiling -- they feel antiquated, and yet immediately recognizable. For these reasons and others, the album feels like a found treasure; like having the password to some backalley speakeasy or your enemy's invasion plans the week before the attack. You feel lucky for what's been acquired and immediately want to share it with those closest to you.

So you should -- keeping something this good to your self feels greedy, so finish your old-fashioned and launch a preemptive strike. You can download the album here (don't worry, it's safe, and if it was available commercially I'd say you should buy it -- but it's not, so don't deprive yourself any longer) and check out two of its gems below, the folksy charmer "We Are Free" and the beautiful "Emily's Book."






The second album capturing my mind of late is the much-awaited follow-up for Bon Iver, the eponymous sophomore effort for the honey-voiced songster from Wisconsin. As is so often the case, the task at hand is daunting -- release something that can match or surpass the masterful debut, in this case the wonderful For Emma, Forever Ago. (An instant classic, one of the best albums released the last five years.) Rather than try to compete with that, though, lead singer/guitarist Justin Vernon rather wisely took the side door and went in a different direction.

Vernon seems to have realized that Emma was the product of a particular (and particularly painful) moment in time, one that happened to coincide (both in timing and content) with one of my own. For my part, I discovered that album at the beginning of my descent -- when my job situation was becoming untenable and I couldn't find a replacement; when the girl I was going to marry was growing more and more depressed and suicidal and our relationship began to implode; when savings dwindled and debt piled up in its stead; when life decisions were questioned and then abandoned; when the family I had long waited to reunite with had to be left again after seven short months.

For me, the album was catharsis -- by exploring it throughout my life's continued destruction, I found clarity, hope, and renewal along with hearty helpings of sadness and pain. By the time that chapter in my life was over I had been reduced to a broken, battered pile on the floor and the old version of me was gone, but I was still kicking. And it sounds like the process surrounding Emma was similar for Vernon -- he had been bludgeoned and was questioning where he was heading, and set about picking up the pieces by writing and recording those songs. While that album was a hushed, heartfelt affair, the product of a broken heart and a retreat to the isolation of a wintry cabin in the woods, this album is full of optimism and light. That album was Vernon with an acoustic guitar and a recorder; this album is Vernon plugged in with an entire band surrounding him. That album was love, loss, and recovery; this album is hope, joy, and sunshine.

So to try and recapture the thoughts and feelings of that time and replicate it on his new disc would be like a divorcee trying to write songs reflecting the joy of falling in love with their ex -- you might remember the specific events, but not the feeling or the sentiment; you're in a different place now. And it seems the place Vernon is in right now is a whole lot brighter. The lushness and beauty he's found beams from the album, a fact reinforced by all the new players around him. Saxophones, keyboards, and layered harmonies flesh out Vernon's quiet, ethereal vocals and create a serene, smiling atmosphere.

It admittedly takes a while to warm up to it -- especially the 1980s radio-ready closer "Beth/Rest" -- since you're expecting something more along the lines of Emma. (Though the three-song run of "Holocene," "Towers," and "Michicant" sound like extras from that era and are as good as anything off that album.) Once you take this effort on its own merits, though, it starts to make sense. Vernon's Auto-tuned voice still has the ability to make you want to curl up on the floor and cry, it's so pretty (see the aforementioned three songs, as well as the album's first single "Calgary" for proof), and his growth as an artist is palpable, from the seamless inclusion of all the new players and instruments to the various stylistic changes and shifts.

This is a man who's not afraid to take chances and switch things up -- I mean, who in their right mind would include a song like "Beth/Rest" on their album if they were worried about playing it safe? -- and that's something to be thankful for. To have someone who can take sadness and turn it into the beauty of Emma or capture the sunshine of its aftermath and give us this album is rare, and we're the definite beneficiaries of his doing so. Check out the joy on this one, the beaming, booming "Towers."

Until next time, mi amici...