Josh Ritter, "The Animal Years"

"Peter said to Paul, 'You know all those words we wrote? They're just the rules of the game, and the rules are the first to go.'"

This is the opening line of Josh Ritter's The Animal Years. It's a kick in the gut that should immediately tell you this is not throwaway music. This is an album that will sit with you for months, its images, themes, allusions and pronouncements gestating in your head.

Ritter's past two albums, 2002's The Golden Age of Radio and 2003's Hello Starling, were promising enough (if a little ordinary), each with their own handful of well-crafted songs. With The Animal Years, though, Ritter steps far out of the fray of bland, same-sounding singer/songwriters.

In interviews Ritter has explained that he wanted to make an album that sounded the way Mark Twain books read. An interesting idea, if a bit vague. It is a notion that becomes crystal clear when you hear The Animal Years.

The best art is that which subtlely evokes, rather than simply stating, what it is trying to convey. Here are some prevalent images from this album: silent movies, Idaho, old west saloons, the Mississippi River, horses, radio signals drifting out over vast expanses of land, the Bible, the 19th Century, gravel roads, and wolves. What they evoke for you is your own business. For me it's things like faith, doubt, innocence, loss, regret, and tenderness.

Wolves are prominent on The Animal Years. They appear here and there, "clicking across the floor," as Ritter sings, their presence a torment. We all, of course, have things we can't let go of: ideas, dreams, regrets. Anyone who's ever been haunted by anything knows what he's talking about. It's a beautiful and powerful image, indicative of what is special about Ritter's writing.

There are shades of protest and politics here as well, but only shades. Ritter wisely eschews traditional protest song structures. Who needs another anti-war song? Do they actually convince anyone to change their mind anyway? Ritter's songs are less about politics than they are about the real-world dynamics behind politics (see "Girl in a War"). The result is far more powerful and moving than a mere political argument put to music.

Producer, Brian Deck, was an admirable choice for Ritter. Frontman of noise-rock band, Califone, Deck brings gorgeous nuance and a stunning sense of space to what are essentially simple folk songs.

Listen to "Monster Ballads*," a song that seems to live in a giant empty room. The only adornment for the understated shuffling rhythm is a soft, backwards-looped organ swell, and Ritter's pleading voice: "Ones and zeroes, bleeding mesa noise/ And when you're empty there's so much space for them/ You turn it off, but then a still small voice comes in blazing from some vast horizon."

It's not all melancholy, though. "Lillian, Egypt" is a sweet, floor-stomping story song full of great lines like "they made her the star of the silent movies, but all she did was mouth the words 'oh no.'" Check out the video for "Lillian, Egypt" here.

The album's centerpiece is "Thin Blue Flame," a scorching nine and a half minute affair, complex and terrifying and incredibly beautiful. Its internet release last year garnered its inclusion in 2005's Upbeat disc (see the "Upbeat 2005" post below).

This is the best album I've heard this year, and one of the best I've heard in many years.

Give it a listen for yourself here.

Download a few tracks for free here.

If you're interested, I'd recommend buying the album on iTunes, which gives you an exclusive bonus track, the lovely "Peter Killed the Dragon."



*What are "Monster Ballads"? Over-the-top, hair-metal slow songs. The early 90s was a hey day for monster ballads. Think "More Than Words" by Extreme. Here's more.