‘(there’s nothing wrong with the truth)’ – yes, lower case and in parentheses – is the title of the opener on Boston-based four-piece Tiberius’ new album, Troubadour. “What truth?” you may ask. Barely more than a whispered aside, the 44-second harmonica-led instrumental gives no answer. But the 40 minutes that follow uncover frontperson Brendan Wright’s truth, and there really is nothing wrong with it.
Wright, who started Tiberius as a solo project in their late teens back in 2015, has always strived for honesty in their music. Though they may now dismiss their early releases as “borderline unlistenable”, those records remain appealing for their refusal to hide anything. “Fake friends and drinking buddies / Can they not see I’m insecure about my body?” Wright asks as a 19-year-old college kid on 2017’s don’t let your light fade, ya little disco ball. All these years later, the confessional songwriting remains intact, but the project has evolved into a quartet and the sound into what the band calls “farm emo”.
Even if it’s meant tongue in cheek, the label is apt: Tiberius combines emo’s expressiveness with rustic imagery and small-town melancholy. Restless vocals and fuzzed-out guitars co-exist with twangy pedal steel and the occasional cameo by a banjo. To their credit, the band finds the golden mean, never slipping into emo’s often theatrical excess or the rhythmic monotony that can make country grating if you’re not a convert. The songs on Troubadour, the group’s label debut for Audio Antihero, snap, swoon and sprawl by turns, but given that Wright describes the album as “a record about love, loss & limerence”, this play with dynamics shouldn’t come as a surprise.
Though Wright shares songwriting credits with their bandmates – bassist Kelven Polite, drummer Ben Curell and pedal steel and banjo player Pat King – on several songs, Tiberius is still primarily their emotional outlet, an opportunity to be ruthlessly honest with and about themself. Take ‘Sag’, which could have made the cut for a late-90s Deep Elm Records sampler. Wright ruminates about whether to pursue a career in music, comparing themself to others, feeling insecure about their place in the world. “Why do I try to keep on trying?” the final line asks, their voice rising to falsetto mid-question before it drops and turns into jaded spoken word.
That candour runs through the whole album, and each song feels like a diary entry about the “ego death” Wright underwent while writing it. Full of mood changes and tempo switches, ‘Felt’ gives a vivid account of how casual dating, when used as a distraction after a break-up, can make you feel so alone you wonder if it’s worth hanging on. Much less bleak, the mid-tempo alt-country tune ‘It Has to Be True’ recounts some of Wright’s romantic encounters, the rhythm section chugging along as the drama builds with each verse until the band has no choice but rock out before the self-affirming lines “I’m the one who loves / I know it has to be true” are sung.
Elsewhere, Tiberius tantalises. “Moab”, complete with jangly guitars and banjo, comes closest to a hit – it would have been one in the post-grunge era 30 years ago – but at some point it turns into a hypnotic chant and the cacophonous noise near the end makes sure you’ve missed your chance. “If I was a redwood tree / You could climb inside my trunk”, Wright sings following the spaced-out intro of “Redwood”, inviting you on what you’re sure will lead to a frantic finale once the lull that starts halfway through ends. Instead, though haunting, the guitars stay soft and Wright’s voice is a mere whisper.
There’s no climax, but after all the shifts in dynamics and mood, you almost expect the band to withhold resolution. When the album closer comes on, you’ve already given up. Surely a leisurely country song called ‘Barn’ won’t relieve the tension that has spilled over from the music? “Grow crops, raise chickens and have fires in the backyard” – does that sound like an attractive proposition? But wait! During what promises to be a folky campfire sing-along Wright decides that they’re ready to move on. “I love you to the bone / But now I need to know / What it’s like to go finding a home on my own / All alone” they sing, and there are no more twists. The spoken word outro only serves to reassure them – and you – that someone who’s experienced death needn’t be afraid to experience it again. Troubadour ends with acceptance. Time spent on honest self-reflection is never wasted.
Troubadour is out 14 November on Audio Antihero.
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Review by Attila Peter
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