The last time I spoke with Ryley Walker, he wasn’t far removed from the darkest period of his life. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow, and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. It’s not a straightforwardly happy ending, but it sends a hopeful message: Dig through the crates for long enough and you might discover yourself.The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. “I woke up with intuition,” he affirms softly, his voice nearly overpowered by the music. “Spoil With the Rest” closes Deafman Glance by pairing Walker’s tale of confronting his limitations with a triumphant swirl of guitars. These moments add up to an album that feels equally thoughtful and spontaneous, restrained and unpredictable. The passages that stand out, like the warped soft-rock guitar solo in “Opposite Middle” and the skittering climax of “22 Days,” have the ephemeral quality of improvisation. Melodies and grooves expand in a way that was previously limited to Walker’s famously experimental live shows. The force driving these songs-from the exquisite slow burn of “Expired” to the instrumental guitar ramble “Rocks on Rainbow”-is an embrace of the unexpected. Deafman Glance marks the moment when his work actually has the power to alter the atmosphere around it. “My word is divine/I control the weather,” Walker once sang, with a hint of self-deprecation. This is a trick the album pulls off repeatedly, without losing its thrill. It’s not the first of Walker’s compositions to resemble a long stretch of quiet road, but it’s the first that takes you somewhere distinctly surprising. The multi-part “ Telluride Speed” is immediately striking, with Chicago jazz fixture Nate Lepine’s flute guiding the song through its dreamy verses, proggy breakdowns, and stomping, psychedelic coda. This adventurous spirit makes Deafman Glance a coherent mood piece and a confident expansion on 2016’s Golden Sings That Have Been Sung. Placed so early on the album, it’s a sign that Walker trusts his audience to follow him into unfamiliar territory. “Accomodations” is Walker’s most discomforting composition-a cacophony of bad-trip ambience and loopy imagery (“Nothing to eat/Only a pound of flesh”) that echo between caustic refrains. After gentle, hallucinogenic opener “In Castle Dome” and the dusky fusion of “22 Days,” the scenery collapses, the sky darkens, and shit gets weird. “I’m just making Ryley Walker records.”Īs so often happens when we leave our trusted guides, things quickly fall apart. “I’m not flipping through record bins anymore,” he recently declared. These shifts give the record a deeper emotional resonance than anything else he’s put his name to. And then there’s his singing: Once a competent and breezy instrument, Walker’s voice has evolved into a throaty speak-sing that sounds depleted, as though it’s been scooped out of itself. His music is heavier and more complex than it used to be, the arrangements harsher and stranger. Walker’s lyrics previously served as a mere complement to his winding, pastoral fingerpicking, but now he writes closer to home, describing the familiar landscapes of Chicago and the self-destructive monotony of life on the road.
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