Michael Ferentino's latest, solo effort (via Dada Drumming Records), Old Nick at my Throat Again, dispatches a heartfelt exploration, which shreds the walls of pretentiousness so that sheer, untrampled (dis)honesty dominates.
It speaks of the devil on one's shoulder, the Hyde that eats at one's pride to perpetuate (if it can) an air of lasting doom.
"Old Nick" is the album's haunting greeting, a guitar-strummed lament that requests grace and camaraderie (in hopes of a humble, easy-going condition), as it begs demonic forces to stay interred. It becomes a repeated prayer for any and all losing streaks, but how can such ever cease, when an inner voice presses defeat?
"Early in the Morning" is an apt, angry answer, beckoning symbolic sleep to cloak the blaring light of day. All the while, it derides the insolent idiots and engine-reeved frustrations that honk along the way. The track is yet another infernal explosion of one's ever rounding routine.
"Mother. Defacer." swings the torch a tad farther, beginning with a brush of rain (the surrogate tears that purge one's fears). It covers never-chance goals, motherless madness, intolerable patience and an insisted faith for a greater, blameless creator, though not without tireless questioning attached, voiced again through a devil's dictation.
In that anchoring refrain, one juggles "The Pros and Cons of Faceplanting," ripping out one's bleeding heart, searching for that burning, lost chord. The melody here is open yet clandestine (thanks to Ferentino's intrinsic craving), pitting a ruse against sincerity on a parachute-less path toward a possible prize, its edge bladed, always cutting; but fear not, for a relaxed hand will catch one's fall.
"Song for Daniel Johnston" performs as the hole in that hand, in tribute to a cuddly, outskirts artist. It's a wishful, poetic, Tin Pan Alley piece, played straight from the curb, an ode to a hobo or bum who's anything but, denounced by a know-it-all depletion of truth.
And so the untruth becomes the faux absolute, commemorated by "On Golden Throne." For this one, Ferentino sounds like a stressed formerly-known-as-Prince, where romancing a princess has been replaced by more submissive fodder and an aggressive dose of rueful self-deprecation.
There are signs that solidify the verdict, traced in "The G.O.A.T.," in which Ferentino asks one to pinpoint the vain virtue of any brown-leaf scheme by discerning what "the little voice inside you" sings within the world's emblematic extremes. (Just because one's told something's the best of all time doesn't mean it is, and the same can be said of one's loftiest aspirations.)
And yet, despite the torsion, there's always another venue to seek, perhaps even the implacable unlikelihood of escape. "Turn Away from Hell" etches this in a sweet, gradual creep that details promise within an antithesis. As one trades polish for spit, the diamond-studded road turns dull and trite, leaving one (as Lennon so aptly put it) a mere "2 feet small." (At this diminutive range, how can one even try?)
The realization is hard to break, as it creaks from one's humble hub, a "Happy Flat," or metaphorical room where one hunts sardonic memories as a "means to an end." It unveils the flatness of the soul, never knowing where to turn, where to roam, what to pursue or believe, beyond the aforementioned try-and-try-again.
The album concludes with "Singing Yer Blues," which shoots high with a final decry that feels right and robust. It works as the blues were meant to work, warning of the wretched bits that shine. Contempt for Nick has finally hit, with an acknowledgment to avert his bland bling. (And besides, when one digs deep enough, others may have it just as bad, maybe worse.) With this in mind, why not redirect the shine past the grime, despite that damn devil inside?
To listen to Old Nick ... is to dart into Ferentino's weathered spirit, and through this sacred source, his words, his silver-tongued tonalities, sculpt a tart yet empathetic lesson that one can't help but keep close.
https://michaelferentino.bandcamp.com/album/old-nick-at-my-throat-again
