If there was a sound to capture the eerie combination of doom and gloom with the comforting nostalgia that we can all relate to around this time of year, then “farm-emo” four piece Tiberius have managed to map it out for us in Troubadour.
The 10-track debut from the Boston-based quartet offers an intricate collection of feelings, spanning all corners of human life and the overwhelm that can accompany it. A sonic landscape that purposefully dives from heartbreak and yearning straight into the frustrations of being a small musician would surely be too ambitious to merge into just one project, but lead writer Brendan Wright (they/them) seems to have cracked the code.
The grounding roots of the country group are established immediately with intro track ‘(there’s nothing wrong with the truth)’ and its harmonica-led melody setting a twangy, twee tone. You’d expect to feel nothing but a sense of dreary, self-pitying dejection, but instead the steel-guitar, played by Pat King (they/them), offers a lending hand and hugs the whole band tight – picture a plaid-shirted, mustache-sporting, lumberjack uncle who’s giving you the best advice you’ll ever hear and a pat on the back.
Righteously titled ‘Sag’, the sardonic single was the first glimpse we caught of Troubadour way back when in July of this year. The track begins with the joining forces of a sleepy guitar lick and a trilled snare in the drum groove, perfectly capturing Wright’s statement on the lethargy that smothers smaller musicians in the early days. What happens next is what makes this track so calculated in what it’s trying to communicate; where the song builds into what could’ve been a heavy/busy and anger-driven venting session, the climax fizzles out, Ben Curell (drums) moves to using a crosstick and shaker, and the guitar mellows. This to me is the perfect sonic description of what it is to be a smaller musician; all the momentum and self-encouragement you spend time cultivating can simply dissipate in moments and slip through your fingers. What you’re left with is a feeling of defeat that you have to pick yourself up from. ‘Sag’ is exactly what it says it is on the tin: the weight of heavy bags (all those pedals and cymbals can get you good).
Second single ‘Felt’ repeats this idea of being out of control but in a totally different context. You’ll want to think of this track as a collection of conversations with lots of different people, and after reading that vocalist Wright wrote this with a recent breakup leading to “distraction through casual dating” in mind, it’s easy to find complete understanding of this within the song. Each section seems to seep into the next, and this melting of melodies together is the epitome of what Wright wishes to express.
“When I wrote felt, I was fairly fresh out of a breakup… I was spending some late nights slipping into the backstories of strangers’ lives – exhilarating, but merely theatrical.”
Brendan Wright
Ironically, lifting the mood and feel of the album is the next track, ‘Tag’. With its jolty, playful drumbeat and child-like backing vocals, Tiberius has captured the concept of nostalgia in audio. “Back in middle school”, a direct line quote, hits the nail on the head in terms of addressing how easy it is to spiral from self-reflection to self-criticism.
‘Moab’’s central position in the album feels poetically calculated relative to the full story of the record, as it’s anthem-like build into announcement: “I give up” feels like reaching the peak of a hill you’ve been dragging yourself up. Though forever remaining unnamed, the “she” we always circle back to is the absolute focus of energy and motivation – “she” is admiration, “she” is hope. As we reach the tipping point of the journey, ‘Moab’ falls into slow success, which separates the overall message from what most other artists do, which is wallow at rock bottom; Wright wants to move on, to take the first steps towards being a better person.
I asked Brendan if they had any recent or changed thoughts about the album since finishing it: “It’s a record that was mine at one point and now I’m ready for it to not be mine anymore”, which I think perfectly sums up where we’re at in this point of the record’s journey.
Hitting us with an emotional U-turn comes ‘Redwood’. A roomy and reverb-heavy landscape created by the guitars and backing vocals begs the listener to keep their distance. Literally pushing and pulling us away, I find the drums on this track to be so specific and spot on with what they need to do. Curell (drums) has absolutely cracked what I like to call “The Ringo Code” – playing exactly what is needed, unselfishly and unapologetically at the same time, without any creative compromise. That hill we just climbed over? We’re running down it with zero control now.
Deep breaths, wipe those tears, dear reader. Closing serenade ‘Barn’ is the soft blanket for us to crash into. Letting their country flag fly, Tiberius fully embraces their roots with a reflective classic country tune. It’s got it all, rises and falls, confessions, and even harmonicas. It’s a really beautiful way of articulating the end to this story; a total sonic replication of a “good” final shot of a movie.
What stands out most about Troubadour is how it flows almost seamlessly and yet snags at points with its melodic outliers and contrasting rhythms – such a risk to take as a smaller artist, when it could be mistaken as disjoint and clumsiness, but Brendan Wright has directed with such purpose that it’s easy to find comfort in knowing that any moment of unease is absolutely intentional. A humble balance of nostalgia and ambition.
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