#punchbros

[neutrinos]

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Fiddling around #punchbros (at Fonda Theatre)

[southhousetunes]

JUX: Live at the Music Hall & The Phosphorescent Blues

One is a band. The other is a songwriter’s slow manifestation. One is a pristine aim of perfection hitting every 32nd note. The other is an often inaccessible and secluded musical mindset.

Indeed the true beauty of the Punch Bros. is they remain enormously versatile within their respective instrumental skill sets. These are bluegrass songs with classical arrangements, pop songs about magnets. I’ve often argued that they are the best band on earth right now. Not my favorite band. Just the best. Precision is their modus operandi, weaving entire eons into their sonic tapestries. The Phosphorescent Blues is no exception, only reinforcement, of this magical position. Not so much marking change or maturity (they are far beyond these early stages), the new release is richer, sweeter, catchier, and riskier than we remember their previous albums. Yet a quick revisitation would disclose not an inch of refutation or denial in past works, but culmination, addition, and progression of the oldest and truest muses within these works, and within us all. It’s simply fun, as easy as “This Little Light of Mine.”

A different breed stands behind the mad wheel of Phosphorescent proper. Matthew Houck is known for slow drawls, bacon-crackling melodies, and an ancient style of writing and representation, where words might mean different things while amongst a few friends. He’s enlisted a fine crew for his live appearances, adding exponential levels of excitement and awareness of the sheer involvement Houck feels towards his work. A bold voice, to the point of utilizing a live release to showcase old tunes off records many have never encountered, nor sought. Everything we love about Phosphorescent in the drifting auras, the angel choruses of repetition, the desert meditations on our lost pieces, is brought to us by Houck, regardless of what we desire to find. And thankfully so, as desire too often robs us of opportunity. He offers a slow trek, a long party, and a constant prayer for that which is lost, and being found again.

Simple appearances would pit Punch and Phosphorescent as two separate ends of a long spectrum: one approaching as a staunch embodiment of musical expertise and educated precision, the other with quietly brilliant lyrical acumen and a rambler’s heart. It’s common to see artists ditch previously fruitful endeavors, rebranding their image to better suit a thousand needs. It’s encouraging to see those who make that transition well. Yet, even more so encouraging are those whose older work stands strong beside newer tunes, begging us to go along with them to the beginning, where passions were fresh and streaming service payouts didn’t matter as much. Not unlike the last stand between an Army Ranger and a drunken cowboy, both the Punch Bros.’s rigorous aim, and Phosphorescent’s hopeful hip shot, hit the mark.