Michael Grabner is an interesting figure – a soft-spoken, unusually-tall singer-songwriter who sings with a country drawl that would have you surprised to know he hails from the frozen north. His live solo performances are captivating: with naught more than his voice and a single guitar, Grabner manages to command audiences with his verses of addiction, loss, and struggle, conveyed through a powerful alt-country style.

All this said, I was disappointed by his first LP. Songs that were tender and full of yearning when experienced live were now derailed by over-busy instrumentation, the world’s loudest-mixed egg shaker, and a number of other things that seemed to confirm that the studio didn’t understand the intent and heart of the tracks. The songs were completely different and most of this was not in a positive manner. This became a particular challenge for an artist I wanted to support and promote – but who I felt had been “done dirty” in some respects.

That said, his second album is a much cleaner take on things. A Story I Can’t Tell opts for a close-to-live experience, sometimes dubbing in an extra guitar. But Grabner has chosen to own his songs fully, even in more simplistic arrangements, and the result is definitely pure. The kicker? This collection is 14 songs long and tops 50 minutes in length. That’s about twice as long as the typical album these days, and it’s very hard to do an album of such length well without a healthy dose of repeating motifs and an overarching concept. It’s even more of a challenge when the nature of backing arrangements doesn’t change (I consider similarly-loft albums from acts like Adjy, Sufjan Stevens, or Orville Peck which play with strings, keys, synths, and auxiliary percussion along with high-energy sections and still can get tiring).

Grabner’s intention here, then, is perhaps more for himself than his listener. The songs were written during a difficult period of chemical dependency, heartbreak, and isolation. The purity of these arrangements, then, feels not only akin to seeing Grabner alive but closer to entering into his diary of hurt. And while Grabner’s songs have never been particularly upbeat, the prolonged down-tempo almost-empty-room experience of the album brings to light each minute of discomfort. As the tracks roll on, each bit of pain compounds. And frankly, it does get wearisome in ways. Tracks are not always punctuated clearly in theme or musical style, and Grabner’s poetry and intricate guitar parts begin to feel derivative – not of some other songwriter, but of other tracks on the album.

Don’t mishear me – pick any individual track, or a handful, and you’ll get a healthy dose of variety. It’s the shear magnitude of the album that seems to be a challenge. It is at once a very ambitious concept and prone to feeling like every unrecorded track prior to that point ended up on the record. I have to wonder what it would be like to hear the tracks as two smaller albums or have some tracks fleshed out a bit more with a full band (albeit one that manages to hone in on the feeling at play). I know these are painful songs from a painful season that thrive one their use of negative space, but the 14-track nature of the record seems to run contrary to this intent in some ways. A couple highlights, like “Crutch”, are tucked into the back end of the album and I could see some listeners tire out before plumbing the depths of this collection.

Even so, Grabner’s ambition is admirable. This may not be the most marketable collection due to its length and simpler arrangements, but there’s no pretense of trying to get rich here. This feels more like an extended version of one of his shows, complete with its grab-bag approach. Tracks like “No Way Out”, “You Won’t Find Me”, “Crutch”, and “Silver Bullets” all show different aspects of Grabner’s dynamic and lyrical aptitude. He conjures images of rural and southern horizons and shows us the depth of ordinary, chronic pains. Grabner lays his heart out and there is no trace of the oblique to be seen – the cycle of hurt, dependence, struggle to move forward, and relapse are like hands on clock. Grabner certainly never glorifies these things, but he’s not shy to invite us into this story – a story that is undeniably difficult to tell.

I still don’t feel like Grabner has realized his full potential on this album, but it certainly reflects his live show accurately and sees him pressing further into confessional songcraft. The record does run a bit long, but most of the songs seem to function well on their own, so I’d suggest taking this in bites or mixing it into a larger playlist. Grabner is still one of the most unique songwriters of Wisconsin’s Fox Valley and I’m curious to see what the future holds.

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