The mighty Eamon the Destroyer resurfaces from lively Leith, Edinburgh to reveal a new, Bear Suit Records album: an experimental sojourn to rival all sojourns, The Maker's Quit.
In so many ways, Eamon's masterpiece deserves the commemoration, for it represents that essential, intrinsic need to quit, to find a greater purpose in life, beyond what others demand, with each track representing another avenue toward peace and resolution.
The first (self-titled) track depicts a casual stroll that isn't so casual once it rolls, insinuating the euphoric dilemma of being lost out at sea or (in a more concrete way) kicking a can down the road, a cap gun or lollypop in hand, remembering the unapologetic way it used to be and should have stayed.
"Silverback" follows, and it throws a fine, simian swagger. Once its knuckles drag, it invokes the funkiness of Lalo Schifrin's disco-ization of television's Planet of the Apes. Eamon inserts an unmistakable, primal spine to this one, with a groove that's as contagious as it's untamed.
"Three Wheels" could be considered a tricycled variant of the former, another sprawling, spry whimsy, though filtered through an adult's ears. This one reaches for a spin-out sensation, cooking something that perhaps a New Age Elvis might devour, jiggling along, "singing a happy song," despite its lifelong woe.
"The Ocean" recalls the initial track's ebb, but expands further upon such. The feeling is vast, leaving one content to drift, but in the end, Eamon turns the serene context into a facetious crawl, seated by a gasping guffaw.
"Captive" is perhaps the most behavioral of the album, as it bids "goodbye to sadness" and for that matter, any and all shackling locations. It's an escape from a place where freedom is prohibited, taking an anchored plea and bending it with ironic glee.
"Firefly in the Leg" is as jumpy as the title implies, inspiring one to gyrate and kick. It's an unofficial, Sid and Marty Krofft theme, so full of jubilation that one can't help but prance into the sunset.
"Pleasureland" gets even more exotic, as Eamon spreads a heavy, Spanish coating upon his chords. In this case, one might envision a seductive senorita, into whose arms one might sway, mingled by all the bells and whistles a libido could lay.
"The Buffalo Sings" could be Eamon's finest of the epic queue, signaling a swansong to one's dying doubts. It declares the necessity to wait until one "runs out of rope" or in the very least, "until the buffalo sings," which isn't likely to happen, and that's the point, not only of this particular composition, but the album in whole.
Eamon's rough, poignant vocals tie his musical reveries with wistful, tender cohesion, solidifying the album as one of the best conceptual experiences of the year.
Quit the burdensome mundane and join Eamon at
https://bearsuitrecords.bandcamp.com/album/the-makers-quit
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