![]() “Mercury in Retrograde,” a post-punk sister to “Make Art Not Friends,” includes the line “If it's not nuclear war, it's gonna be a divine intervention.” It would have been an excellent end to the album, though a somewhat muted one, but then comes “Fastest Horse in Town,” the jammiest song on the album, a seven-minute scrawl of guitars and synths and more guitars. He’s sitting in his tower, looking down and waiting to be kicked by whoever’s coming up next, but there’s no denying the world needs serious help. Simpson acknowledges “You're either part of the solution, don't be part of the problem/Gotta know you're alone,” which may as well be the album’s mission statement. Then there’s “Last Man Standing,” a fiery demonstration of Simpson’s isolationist tendencies (“Well, you know daddy likes his alone time/It's why he doesn't have any friends/Yeah, but want you to see, you'll be looking at me/The last man standing in the end”), as well as the most country-inspired song on the album, in the vein of classic barn burners and old-school rock. It features one of the best guitar performances on the album, a wild and concise solo that mines all the tension out of the album’s gentle chimes and acoustic strum. ![]() There’s still room for sonic change-ups, though, like the campfire swoon of “All Said and Done,” which has Simpson lamenting lost dreams. All around, the production does a stellar job of emphasizing the album’s themes of isolation and chaos with crowded mixes, drums and bass firmly planted in the front of every song. Simpson’s 180 aesthetic change is on display in songs like these, as his guitar chops are given a chance to show off with endless soloing and crunchy, earth-shaking riffs. ![]() “Remember to Breathe” casts him as a criminal, “Stayin' in the shadows” and “Having one-way conversations with the darkness in mind.” The titular line of the song seems at first to be a comforting reminder, as Simpson casts light on the dark side of himself that does all the talking but in another light, he’s gonna “Do another lap around the target just for fun/Stayin' quiet, keeping calm until I find the one/Feel the wave wash over me when the deed is done,” a horrifying bit of context to the chorus, “So peel it off, pull 'em down/Let me see it, turn around/Just lay back and let it happen.”Įlsewhere, moments like “Sing Along” rumble like B-sides, with very little thematic similarity, but incredible songwriting and production. Simpson and his band boldly assert that people are the problem. ![]() It’s the same issues we’re facing right now, exaggerated into a post-apocalyptic drive through the wasteland. The problem at the center of Simpson’s world isn’t some mystical explosion, or a Mad Max-style breakdown of class and technology. Some careful world-building is given on the opening salvo of “Ronin” and “Remember to Breathe.” Alex Jones, radio broadcasters, and TV personalities ramble about conspiracies and consumption. There is more than just complaining on SOUND & FURY. This is about anger, depression, and not being allowed into the party as a means of critiquing those who put it on. Manhattan’s exile to Mars in Watchmen, Simpson claims the title of “Best Clockmaker on Mars” to “Make sense of the world” he sees. On the very next track, though, he’s back in macho-rock form, delivering a Zeppelin-influenced ode to a lover who helps him see the world echoing Dr. A wonderfully morose chorus takes the punch out of a screeching guitar lick that guides the song, played by Simpson, as is nearly every guitar on the album. The line comes from “Make Art Not Friends,” a hopeless dirge for the loss of human connection, supported by Simpson’s comfort in art. As Simpson sings, “Looking out the window at a world on fire/It's plain to see the end is near,” this place is nothing to cherish. SOUND & FURY borrows its name from a line in Macbeth, describing life as “a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” Taking the form of a road trip through a dilapidated Earth, however many years in the future, the album echoes Shakespeare’s character through its isolationism and cynical edge. It’s also the soundtrack to a Netflix anime, so there’s that, too. SOUND & FURY is a risky, modern-minded rager, burning a hole through its target with brutal efficiency as usual, Sturgill’s songwriting is the drawing force, and it’s never been better, or more focused. Jangling guitars are traded for massive riffs, and in the space where strings and pianos flourished on his last album, sharp synths appear to take their place. Sturgill Simpson’s fourth album departs from his country roots, and races into a full-blown rock manifesto.
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