Eamon the Destroyer's latest, Radio Sessions, enlists the varied grooves that we seek whenever we turn the dial. In this case, they're "stripped down," acoustic renditions (with a few embellishments added here and there) of six of his established creations, but no matter their emanations, Radio Sessions taps the emotional constitutions that give old favorites new spins, allowing our emotions to ascend or descend, depending on the transmissions (those revised versions) dealt.
"Nothing Like Anything" is whistly and breezy, with a tonality that's truthful and glitz-less. It references humility through "little feet in my hands": something born, breathing and nurtured during that promising time when "the sun is out." It's also about a "restless heart," of traveling far beyond and heading back home, of bouncing back and forth in life, discovering the things that one has never known, and from that awakened point, will never forget.
If "Nothing Like Anything" holds an upswing implication, "Underscoring the Blues" represents the sad song that soothes the soul. Its raw "God knows"-woe is ironically hopeful and calliope-pumped, with sounds/vocals that are at once judgmental and instructional, but also giddy enough for a circus clown to embrace, as he smiles his way through the tears.
"We'll Be Piranhas" (a fabulous song in any version) reworks and teases Bowie/Eno's "Heroes," imagining pirates, conquest and attack. Eamon's rugged vocals are sweet as butter, which makes his lyrics' all the more cutting edge, somehow both poignant and whimsical within the nimble niche he digs.
"Silver Shadow" depicts a ride in a small, blue car, under summer skies: a swift, sleek composite to epitomize the long stretch of an arduous journey. In its unfettered form, it's the Flash or Quicksilver zooming at lightning speed, only to skid to a hard halt, all in the name of love, all to put one's arms around another, to hold onto someone who summons the deepest essence, which breaks and resonates with nothing but a tender plea.
"Avalanche" represents a from-the-throat aftermath, a situation formed and carved, piled in a loved one's yard. It identifies a chink in that person's armor, as a dark star descends, riding on to draw all the flaws that were once hidden, but now beam for all the angelic beauty they hold.
In response to this euphoric realization, there comes "The Choirmaster," an introspective, Piranhas piece that makes peace with the world. It recalls the smooth shuffle of "Nothing Like Anything," though with greater, piercing resonance. There's also a trace of gratitude that presses through, an acceptance for what stands, and what stands deserves a cathedral's exaltation, a profound punctuation to trek onward and make the best of what one possesses (something that all the best, radio tunes project).
Radio Sessions is a satisfying, musical sojourn, a audio look down memory lane, as well as a glimpse toward the future, of expressing the essential juice that flows through one's veins, and for all the emotional baggage it drags, it deposits one on a higher level.
After listening to this six-part, revisionist epic, don't be surprised if you bestow Eamon's expressed gratitude (and humanity) straight back to him. After all, he understands. He knows. So will you.
Tune to Radio Sessions (courtesy of Bear Suit Records) at
https://bearsuitrecords.bandcamp.com/album/radio-sessions
and
https://bearsuitrecords.bandcamp.com/album/radio-sessions
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