The Monster Who Hated Pennsylvania

Album review

This is Damien Jurado's 17th album in 25 years. His chosen genre (Americana and indie folk) is known for being light on surprises and innovation, so you would think that by now this material might have started to get a little samey. But the reality is that, from the very first seconds of this new album, we find ourselves hooked. Even the title, The Monster Who Hated Pennsylvania, is compelling: it sounds like a Richard Brautigan novel with the cover art seemingly hinting at a whole life (or death) story. Both in its form and its content, there is nothing very new about this Damien Jurado record: there's an acoustic guitar; a rather rasping singing voice reminiscent of an ailing koala; minimalistic arrangements (a little bit of bass, percussion, an echoing second voice); simple songs; and a cosy, intimate production job. Nothing new, but nothing disappointing either. Before The Monster Who Hated Pennsylvania, Jurado had released all his records on the Sub Pop label. But now he has turned to self-producing his music and is seemingly relieved to have cut one more link with the industry. Damien Jurado is a craftsman, and he conceives his records as collections of short stories, written by hand in a small notebook rather than on the keyboard. For him, detail and personal touch are everything: you can hear it in the grain of his voice, the tempo, and the lyrics. These songs could have come out 25 years ago, or 10 years ago, or 20 years hence. The album creates the sensation of being in the heart of a forest or on an ocean shore: time stands still, everything is in its place, and nothing has any reason to move or change. © Stéphane Deschamps/Qobuz