songs love Ron. They adore you, in fact. They sprout easily around him, he pampers them, and they thank him by taking the form of a suit that fits his author like a glove. And it is that, as he used to say about Dylanno one sings to Ron Sexsmith as Ron Sexsmith, although many and many have tried.
Perhaps for all this his discography is like one of those books that one can open to any page and it is not necessary to situate oneself in a plot line to obtain the corresponding enjoyment. With the one that concerns us, he already has seventeen albums and none, believe me, none, falls below the remarkable high. In fact, it’s a shame to have to explain this, everyone should know. But that would be in a perfect world, and we all know what this world is like.
And best of all, just so you know, it hasn’t needed big stylistic twists or surprise rudder changes to keep the type. That’s why I say that he loves the songs, because what he really does is start from the traditional concept of pop composition to, through it, perfect, over and over again, his own craftsmanship in this regard. In this sense, he can be seen as the typical goldsmith, that gentleman always involved in his workshop, producing jewels in a loop that always aspire to achieve the most dazzling beauty.
In these terms, you will agree with me that this record that we are dealing with starts, already, almost without having heard it, from a winning position. However, I have heard it. And I’ve heard it a lot. And the same thing has always happened to me with Ron. On a first listen, everything seems fine to me, how could it be otherwise, but it’s hard for me to highlight one song over the other. His voice is so silky, so sweet and present, it determines everything so much that it’s hard to focus. But on a second listen, things gain strength, each song takes shape and wham!, with a third time it has caught you again. You fall in the deepest love. No referral. Another perfect record, one of those that shelters the soul, one of those necessary to keep getting up in the morning.
But let me explain, otherwise this is very ethereal: Ron Sexsmith he moved to live in Stratford, Ontario, fleeing the bustle of tumultuous Toronto, his city of residence for many years, before the pandemic. He was so comfortable at home that he began to do what many other people did when forced by confinement much earlier: his previous album, Heritage (2020) was recorded entirely in his home studio. And, as his author would later confess, he came to think that it would be the last. Somehow, he dried up. But of course, then the pandemic came and the songs, after the dry spell, sprouted up again as always, like mushrooms from the ground. However, as soon as possible, he decided that this time he was going to travel far to record them. To Nashville, no less.
In Nashville he placed himself in the hands of Brad Jones, an old acquaintance, collaborator and highly reputable producer, with whom he got along wonderfully. That’s why the songs of The Vivian Line -titled like this in honor of a rural road near Ron’s house, where he walks- they sound much more meaty, human and warm, than in his previous (and eye, also outstanding) work. In fact, it’s one of his best-sounding albums. The arrangements are precious, sometimes even baroque, but never strident. They result in that simplicity that is the true trademark of a man who only wants to talk to us about the pleasures of home life, love and the pleasant sensation of stopping the walk and breathing the forest air.
And all of this, although it may seem difficult, he does it without pretentiousness, without nerdiness, without being cakey (note: this is not valid for fans of the black metal, those that don’t even come close, that can give them something) and without loading with sugar a list of 12 songs that provide 33 minutes and a peak of pure auditory orgasm (I repeat: for a fan of pop, not black metal). In them Ron delivers the usual: love and a combination that starts from the folk-pop and passes through wisps of soulof rhythm and bluesof bluegrass and a certain psychedelic fondness, which on this specific occasion provides the great surprise, a small wonder popsicles titulada “Country mile”.
Along with her, the remaining eleven, starting with that pastoral ambrosia that begins the album under the explicit title of “Place called love”, shine equally. “What I had in mind” is a book single, a display of immediacy of those that one never tires of listening to; the same happens with the ironic “Outdated and antiquated”, in which the good old Ron he prides himself on being completely modern, or in “Diamond wave”, pure joy for the heart. However, the album does not fall short in terms of that rare ability of the Canadian to compose ballads and mid-tempo capable of breaking your heart as soon as you neglect it. We are served by this with “Powder blue” or “When our love was new”, which are already included among the best of the songbook of Sexsmith. A guy who never had glamour, who has always been highly praised by his colleagues, but has never achieved massive success and, nevertheless, has remained discreet, manufacturing his jewel-songs in his workshop, and releasing them to the public. world with the only suit that suits them, their own voice. He releases them, putting them carefully and neatly on albums like this one, which if you don’t know anything about him, is a perfect place to come across the fantastic treasure that is his discography. Because the word “delicatessen”, as you know, was invented to Ron Sexsmith.
Listen to Ron Sexsmith – The Vivian Line
