While Oklahoma-based singer-songwriter John Moreland was surprised with his sonic shift to the incorporation of drum loops and electronics into his sound on LP 5, he also revealed his lighter side. Birds in the Ceiling finds the middle ground of extending the sonics while lyrically returning to the kind of darker territory that defined his earlier albums. Again he is working with producer Matt Pence, a Texas-based engineer, producer, and drummer. It also straddles the stripped-down style of his earlier work and the smaller band from the previous album as he and Pence seem to the only ones doing the heavy lifting on many tunes with longtime collaborator, pianist John Calvin Abney appearing on a few tunes.
Like so many of us, Moreland is trying to make sense of the past few years – the pandemic, the social protests, divisive politics, and the increasingly evil side of humanity. He raises plenty of questions, essentially talking to himself, purposely avoiding answers as, he, like the rest of us, finds himself in inexplicable times. As such, Moreland strives for an intimate album, even to the point of singing more quietly than he has in the past.
“Ugly Faces” opens with similar sonics that we heard on his previous effort. A slow-but-funky programmed drum groove begins with Abney’s mournful piano joining, as Moreland sings, “You’re seeing ugly faces in your dreams,” gradually adding acoustic guitar, mandolin, synths, and live drums before he turns apologetic. “I couldn’t hear you calling/the bullshit was so loud,” he sings. He could be singing to someone else, or even to himself. “Lion’s Den” extends the sonics of pop influences with more electronic beats, but Moreland’s lush finger-picked acoustic guitar is positioned well in the mix. It’s a pandemic-inspired tune about alienation and loneliness (“man without a nation held hostage by the situation”) a theme that pervades much of the album. His guitar takes an urgency behind the drum machine and claps on “Cheap Idols Dressed in Expensive Garbage,” a tune inspired by a social media account that highlights pastors wearing designer clothes. It’s a cynical commentary on how difficult it is for working people to get by when they observe such triviality.
Together with more superb guitar playing, the atmospheric “Generational Dust” continues these themes with lines such as –“not much goes down in this purgatory town.” There’s a sly injection of wit as he inserts the line – “it’s only rock n’ roll but you like it.” “Dim Little Light” is a solo acoustic guitar piece that speaks to the large, almost incomprehensible awe of the universal connection (“watching the big stars shine’’), posing numerous rhetorical questions on the individual perspective – (“we might wonder…”). “Neon Middle June’ opens with Abney’s abstract piano playing that ironically was recorded unintentionally as Abney didn’t realize the tape was rolling. It’s a weird soundtrack, arranged by Abbey, for a deep love song sung barely above a whisper, about how Moreland and his wife’s bonds strengthened during the pandemic.
The key track is “Claim Your Prize,” set upbeat fluid guitar lines and strums but with the album’s darkest lyrics decrying the myth of the American Dream, the dwindling middle class and the current power structure who have abandoned their morality in support of racism and misogyny. Yes, we live in an age where lying is not only permissible but is acceptable as one’s MO. “Truth Be Told,” which begins with solo acoustic guitar accompaniment, carries the theme further as Abney and Pence join and fade a bit into the background as Moreland sings in half-spoken tones “you don’t owe me anything, I don’t owe you anything” over an ethereal, mysterious backdrop. The closing title track is graceful, almost intrusively intimate, as Moreland expresses hope and gratitude, basically finding comfort with oneself by letting things be as they are.
This is deep stuff, rife with terrific guitar playing, rather unusual use of sonics, and deep, sometimes troubling lyrics that demand several listens. Moreland’s thoughts though are akin to those of many of us, who don’t possess nearly the kind of talent he has in expressing them.
