While I usually prefer to take my wine with cheese, there's certainly something to be said for Iron and Wine.
Miami-born singer/songwriter Samuel Beam chose this unlikely moniker as his stage name, and whether by accident or intent, the quality of his music is very iron-y and wine-y: a mixture of roughness, delicacy, and unpretentiousness.
Beam is still somewhat of a newbie in the underground alternative scene, though his latest album (released in March of this year) carves out a lasting niche for him in solo work. Our Endless Numbered Days is a well-combined montage of bluegrass hints, a-capellic moments, and lulling acoustic arpeggios-think John Denver meets Nick Drake meets Elliot Smith.
And although it's about as wise to judge an album by its artwork as it is to judge a book by its cover, Beam's chosen image of a man in somber contemplation amidst a bed of vibrant green grass truly attests to the seasonal feel of this album. The bittersweet finality of the last days of summer is reflected in pensive lyrics about transition, regression, and nostalgia.
Our Endless Numbered Days ironically commences with "On Your Wings," a song that thematically addresses the transiency of life on earth, propelled by a briskly repeated guitar riff which sounds eerily like a rapidly ticking clock driving towards the inevitable end. Musing about the ephemeral seems to be Beam's specialty, and the second track, entitled "Naked As We Came," captures Beam gently uttering, "One of us will die inside these arms / Eyes wide open / Naked as we came / One will spread our ashes 'round the yard." While this track disguises itself as a melodious lullaby, there is something rather morbid about pleasantly veiled ruminations on death (prepare for shivers traveling up and down your spine).
"Cinder and Smoke" harkens back to images of Beam's rural South Carolina upbringing, full of snakes, farmhouses, and junipers, accented by maracas and chromatic chanting. Beam doesn't disappoint with "Sunset Soon Forgotten," "Teeth in the Grass," and "Love and Some Verses," which show his ability to transition from uplifting melodies to bluesy beats to touching ballads.
"Radio War" comes as somewhat of a surprise, considering its extreme sparsity. An amateurish strumming of three bare chords highlights Beam's voice as the focal instrument. As "Radio War" offered just enough variety to shake up the progression of the album, the final five tracks ease the listener into the miasma of complete satisfaction. Particular pieces of note are "Fever Dream"-a heartbreakingly lovely hymn on the intricacies of romantic relationships, and "Passing Afternoon," which is a perfect grand finale for an album that relies on thematic circularity for initiating that slightly melancholic, tad bit misanthropic mood.
Beam's graceful utilization of the aforementioned formula of breaking up ballads with catchy Southern beats allows him to make Our Endless Numbered Days end in a pastel sunset that oh-so-subtly sneaks up on you. And with that, I happily drink to Samuel Beam's emergent career and remarkable talent.