Albums and Abominations

By Benjamin Huber-Rodriguez     2/10/14 6:00pm

Favorite tracks: "Going Out," "Nightingale" and "Inauguration" Album available for $9.99 on iTunes.

Think of some songs where it sounds like the artist is speaking directly about something true and important in his life and then putting it to music. Now take those songs, make the lines so direct that they sound like they were ripped straight from a diary entry, and make 11 of them, and then you might be close to what Mark Kozelek has penned on his most recent Sun Kil Moon album, Benji.

Benji is a sort of concept album; the songs are certainly linked thematically. Nearly each one talks about someone Kozelek has known who has died. The thing is, these songs sound so absolutely real - the details of plane flights, family reunions, late-night phone calls - that it is less of a concept album and more of a string of eulogies to which Kozelek has added melodies and lilting acoustic guitar lines. I would not be surprised if many listeners were emotionally unable to get through the album in one take. When one minute into the opening song, "Carissa," Kozelek solemnly sings "I called my mom back and she was in tears and asked had I spoke to my father. Carissa burned to death last night in a freak accident fire," it is apparent that this will not be a normal album.

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The depressing stories abound from there. "Truck Driver" is a somber affair that details the death of Kozelek's uncle in a fire. "Jim Wise" tells the tale of a family friend who mercy-killed his wife and went to prison for it. "Michaele" is about the murder of Kozelek's childhood friend. All of the songs give comprehensive background information and spare no detail. The dates, places and people involved are intricately woven around slightly more abstract lyrics summarizing Kozelek's personal thoughts. There are only two uplifting tracks on the record, including "I Love My Dad," a humorous rocker about growing up under a tough, blue-collar father who imparted life lessons by means of wrestling and drinking, but even here, Kozelek's prolific storytelling remains intact; "Your kid goes to the public Berkeley school with one black kid / My kid goes to the public school, came home with cracked ribs." The title track, "Benji," also covers slightly varied territory: a stream-of-consciousness melody about Kozelek attending a Postal Service concert and failing to meet up with his friend and frontman Ben Gibbard afterward, all while battling a

midlife crisis.

Listening to the record all the way through gives a sense of continuity regarding the details in various stories. When Kozelek mentions his uncle's death in a fire in "Carissa," he follows up with the story two tracks later. The last time he saw Carissa was at a funeral for a family friend and former bandmate Brett, whose death is explained on "Michaeline." We learn that Kozelek found out about Brett's death while on tour in Sweden and Norway, the same place he goes back to when he learns about the killing spree of 2011 at a Norwegian summer camp. These interlocking details give the album an additional sense of realism; an astute listener can actually trace the entire arc and timeline through which Kozelek wrote these songs.

Does the album work? Yes and no. The songs only reveal themselves to those who choose to actively listen, and without them, it is simply guitar music. I imagine Benji could be extremely therapeutic. If someone needs to really feel for a while, Benji will do the job. But past that, the album is merely pleasant to listen to, if not a bit long-winded and repetitive. It is an astounding, impressive body of work, but only innovates in the lyrical sense, a rarity for modern music. Still, Kozelek's dedication to the craft cannot be understated, and with Benji, he has cemented himself as one of modern music's most prolific artists and best storytellers.

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