Tom Brosseau

Adding a page to the new weird American songbook and echoing the reverberating vocal chords of Devendra Banhart is an easy way to draw attention to yourself and claim a little of what’s hot for yourself, but Tom Brosseau is no mere copycat, he’s mastered the genre. More power to him; he does an admirable job of appealing to the hipster palate. However convenient it is to lump Brosseau with this so-called movement, he isn’t limited by it. The songs on this album have depth and dynamic that make each an engaging listen. There’s nothing incredibly groundbreaking here, but should that be expected? Brosseau makes sad, beautiful music. His empty house feels lonely as the wind whistle through creaking shutters a ghostly voices cry out from the cellar, but it’s a house so haunted you won’t feel alone. There are the obvious, aforementioned influences at play here, but more than those as well. Brosseau takes up residency as an underground American and represents the perpetually abandoned and inconsolable character. It’s the romanticised underbelly of America that we love to emulate but can’t stand to face in reality. But it’s also the downtrodden feeling with which everyone can relate. Music is one way of dealing with it and Brosseau does as good a job as any.