M. Ward | Transfiguration of Vincent
A Ryan J. Mack Review

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So much is at play here on this journey of M. Ward's "Transfiguration of Vincent". Strum-y, twang-y guitars. Strangely appropriate synthesizers in compelling locations. Sad, nigh-trite lost-cowboy lyrics. Smoldering jazz and James Dean blues. Honestly drawing on all of these, M. Ward's (not to be confused with the Soul Coughing front man with whom he shares a name) exposed reflectiveness begs you for a whiskey and an idle abandon

It's a long, slow journey. Sometimes your attention wanes, caught up in the rhythm of the road. Other times, you're gripping the wheel or the map, struggling for fine clarity of a scene. You start one place and end up another, whether it was your original destination or not..

Drive with windows down through the open desert. Close down a bar you spot on the horizon. It's as little and delicate as it is tightly woven, so much so that to extricate any song in particular could both illuminate its own merit and force an isolation upon something that works well in its whole-disk frame. It's hypnotic enough to draw those occasional Grand-daddy likenings and just raspy enough to also validate the references to Tom Waits, sans cigarettes.

In all, it has a certain effortless elegance that can support background softness you find drawing you in. It isn't really like much else around in current work-and certainly has a higher ease. He happens into this vocal and guitar playing of the variety where you might think it was easy until you tried it yourself. Perhaps it's grace, perhaps a lack of pretension. Whatever it is, it's mesmerizing. Buy it