One quick look at the track list for Margo Cilker’s debut LP Phorylle is sure to conjure images of vast landscapes and wild vistas. The songs themselves drip with tastes of Americana and alt-country, with a similar balance of verdancy and barrenness. Cilker finds herself in Oregon, and the album reads much like a trail to – and from – home. It’s not a clean or predictable path, but the melodies weave with the same intricacy as the forest canopy, bend with the same force as winding rivers, and hush with the quietude of desert nights.
Pohorylle, however, is not the typical Pacific Northwest album. Cilker seems to face southward when it comes to inspiration, with slide guitar, Gospel-flavored piano, and even a bit of accented vocal texture. In a vacuum, you might mistake her from the red dirt scene.
There are plenty of different parts of Cilker’s personality at play here that give listeners a holistic look at life. “That River” opens with a complaint about how cold the river gets in the winter (I might add how refreshing it is to hear a reference to coldness in this type of song). Fiddle and piano wash over Cilker’s memories in whimsical fashion.
“Broken Arm in Oregon” gives us a look at Cilker’s travels from the east coast, and it’s something that feels necessarily visual to me, having traveled to some of these places myself. There’s a innocent regularness to this song. We don’t see all of the details of that trips, but we hear about eggs for breakfast. Indeed, it’s often the small details that stay with us.
“Tehachapi” is perhaps the best starting point for a single, and it’s one of the high-energy songs in the mix. It’s a song about perseverance in light of watching a lover take off toward California without notice. Rather than grieve, Cilker carries on with confidence.
“Brother Taxman Preacher” shows the aggressive side of Cilker as she takes a jab at a number of powerful men. He brother has everything, she claims. She wishes she could plunder without restraint or pontificate and have people listen. And while it’d be easy to focus on the track’s social implications, it’s her brother that is mentioned most. The primary dynamic exposes sibling turmoil and the complexity of watching parallel lives diverge over the years.
The album ends on “Wine In the World”, which I fear might become the anthem of middle-aged moms everywhere with its chorus of “I wish I had all the wine in the world”. That aside, it’s a personal look at how quickly life goes by and how many moments feel wasted. There’s plenty of inner wrestling and consequent fatigue here. It’s easily to sense the distress and sense of futility at play.
The fact there isn’t a homogenous mood to the album is one of its beauties. There are moments of strength and vulnerable displays of weakness alike. The sentiments are never too distanced from the average human experience, and there’s an undeniable earthy quality at play. The instrumentation is enchanting, but it’s largely supportive to the larger story – a story not unlike yours or mine, yet conveyed so powerfully and convincingly that we can’t help but search Cilker’s tales for truths to apply in our own lives.
0 Comments