Even with this pedigree, New Threats From the Soul is essentially the most overwhelming, singular show of Davis’ items thus far: a document whose novelty is matched by its heat and consistency. Some lyrics dazzle with their idiomatic perception, like this one: “There are occasions when a white flag is nothing however a clean canvas/It waves for what occurs subsequent.” There are others that really feel exceptional for what number of intelligent turns of phrase they mix so gracefully, like this one: “If we put our two heads collectively on this unhappy sack of feathers/May we keep in mind what the reminiscence foam forgot?” There are others that remind me of the times when Twitter was a humble platform for foolish, self-explanatory observations, like when he reads “OJDIDIT” on a license plate. After which there are lyrics that really feel torn from the pages of some misplaced American religious epic, like when he considers the penny slot’s nagging class consciousness because it friends into the high-stakes room.
The lyrics are so good that I might spend this entire evaluation quoting them, however I’d wish to keep away from that, as a result of, even since 2023’s masterful Dancing on the Edge, the Roadhouse Band has developed a sound that feels simply as worthy of celebration. There’s a purpose why the common music hovers round eight minutes, and it’s not simply Davis’ knack for recurring motifs. The band is aware of the way to stretch out, swapping the surroundings to make every left flip really feel pivotal. “Mutilation Springs,” the longest music on the document, incorporates a chintzy keyboard intro, a spacey slow-burn for his spoken-word supply, a blink-and-you-miss-it musical nod to “Lola,” and a closing jam with flute accompaniment from Lou Turner that feels like a band of animatronic bears jamming to Station to Station.
Arriving at a very plentiful time for lyric-driven indie rock drawing on people and nation, New Threats From the Soul stands proudly by itself. It’s a document that indulges in doubtlessly alienating concepts—like doubling again to “Mutilation Springs” for a equally titled, equally prolonged redux with the identical melody and construction—and makes them really feel inviting, additional embedding us within the panorama. As accompanists, the Roadhouse Band typically construct to climaxes that ought to be nonsensical—like ending the in any other case classic-sounding “Monte Carlo/No Limits” with a blast of pedal metal, fiddle, and jungle beats. Uniformly, their performances really feel impressed, as averse to cliché and open to interpretation as Davis’ writing.
This freedom makes the document play like a spontaneous breakthrough, assuming form as we hear, and it provides Davis the boldness to embrace his position as a bandleader. He is aware of simply when to put on the swagger—promoting the hook of “Higher If You Make Me” with actorly desperation, or closing his eyes to leap an octave and belt the climactic rhyme of “miracle” and “urinal” within the closing “Crass Shadows (At Walden Pawn).” He additionally is aware of simply when to step again. All through “The Easy Pleasure,” he often cedes the mic to fellow Kentucky native Will Oldham, who has by no means sounded fairly so exuberant and soulful on document. Collectively they sing about life’s “easy joys” and the “less complicated lonelinesses,” as Davis’ narrator charts his method from grief to deliverance to solitary confinement. “Are we getting any nearer to me figuring out what the purpose of all of that is,” Davis shouts to no particular response, which solely provides him extra purpose to maintain singing—pointlessly, joyfully, not looking for which means however making it for himself.
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