Ryan Davis faces new threats
I love that it’s hard to find much about Ryan Davis on social media. In an era of oversharing, it’s refreshing to encounter someone who’s keeping a few things to himself and allowing for some mystery. It also suits Davis’ songs, which feel like they’re plucked from a pre-internet era.
I dug his last record and, like many, heard echoes of David Berman in his singing and lyrics. In addition, I’ve caught glimpses of The Magnet Fields’ Stephin Merritt in his work, particularly in the new single, “New Threats of the Soul” (a perfectly provocative title).
It’s a difficult—and lengthy—song to unpack. Lyrically, the barrage of metaphors, turns of phrase, and minor cliches (e.g. “caged bird”) left me both compelled and lost.
Along the way, Davis scratches at self depreciation, a failed relationship, glory days past, and afterlife contemplation—all themes that overlap and intersect. The question is: what new angle does he bring to these topics and conflicts that have been mined by songwriters for generations? Many, including myself, would say that it’s all about the language and the images.
All of the words (and the meticulous syntax) seem to carry weight with Davis, so it’s worth the effort to close read this thing. After a dozen listens, I have a feeling there’s a rich world embedded in the recurring images, including driftwood, sliding doors, bubblegum, and puddles. I’m just not sure I can pin down what he’s saying through these images, though. And that’s okay—sometimes too much clarity takes the fun out of it. There are, however, certain moments that land immediately and serve the song’s narrative arc. Lines like “the firmament bouncer was a rock-pile buddy of mine” and “I had Heisman buzz” are undeniably great and prove that Davis transcends paradox.
The Roadhouse Band, on the other hand, doesn’t leave room for head scratching. Their work is powerful and direct and soothing. There’s some really beautiful interplay happening among these players, with leads and counter melodies coming from guitars, pedal steel, keyboard, piano, and horns. Nothing is competing (although there are moments where calamity looms). I picture a band similar to classic Lambchop—a big collective in a room together finding their place in a busy lyrical landscape. Cheers to these folks for crafting a beautiful and inviting groove in the midst of their narrator’s crumbling world.
Check out the song below and enjoy a little mystery:
