Review by Tim MartinEarlier this year, I met a woman who had finished her transition. As she spoke to me, her face held the beautiful glow that comes at the other side of great trial. Enduring rejection from family and friends, she had felt like the only letter of LGtBQ that seemed to be belittled and lost amidst the community of an acronym. My Prairie Home speaks with a twinkling eye, a bitter sting, and this same enduring, beautiful glow.
It is possible to miss the trees for the forest. A forest is a singular noun, while the plural trees speak of many stories within; many different yet shared experiences, identities, and expressions. A forest is easily essentialized, categorized, and at times, commodified. Trees speak of individuality. Rae Spoon prefers the plural pronoun, and their music is similarly multifaceted.
The melodies are like the echoes of a mountain pass. Keys and acoustic guitar strings lay the groundwork for harmonies pure as Grandmother’s silverware. But the listener is caught between the brackets of this minimalist folk pop and dangerous sounding grunge distortion. Tracks like “Snake in the Water” musically wake the listener to the messiness of Rae’s childhood.
The album expresses universal truths. It examines the lies we tell, the fear of the unknown, our desire for belonging, and the search for home. Listening to it we are at the side of a prairie highway hitchhiking, and we haven’t been picked up yet. We have just been bullied and abandoned, and only now have we cultivated the adequate retort for our oppressor. We just spent that last burning tear on our cheek.
Have the courage to tell the story to your friends. Shake off the goose bumps, and press play again.
