B'lieve I'm Goin' Down

Kurt Vile's sixth LP ups the Philadelphian's creative ante, speckling finger-plucked finesse and Farfisa whimsy into his laid-back blues/folk crunch.

No one has told the tale of Kurt Vile except Kurt Vile, and there is a diversity of expression on b'lieve I'm goin down.

His lyrics have grown more sophisticated. Humor was always part of his music, but on b’lieve i’m goin down it’s an animating principle.

While B’lieve won’t always command attention, that’s part of what makes it such a pleasant experience--Vile freely expresses himself without demanding anything in return.

It should come as no surprise that follow-up b’lieve i’m goin down... finds Vile continuing to self-deprecate, amble, and sigh, despite the new tier of success. Neither should it be a surprise that all those qualities remain entirely charming.

The hardest-working slacker in rock goes from strength to strength. [Nov 2015, p.108]

His sixth album is perhaps a smaller-scale, slower burn than 2013’s Wakin’ on a Pretty Daze: the likes of That’s Life, Tho and Stand Inside take a few listens to reveal their unobvious melodic logic, but when they do, they hit hard.

Now six solo albums in, Vile sounds like no one but himself.

It's not easy to burrow this deeply inside oneself without succumbing to self-parody, but Vile's saving grace continues to be his knack for penning jokes that are colloquial in tone but cosmic in resonance.

While he continues to be less elusive, his music continues to thrive from his stark directness.

Its tendency to slip into trance-like arrangements can make b'lieve feel a bit too sleepy at times, but moments pop up just in time to pull you back.

B’lieve I’m Goin’ Down is a quietly unexpected album. It feels very much like another Kurt Vile album, but close listening--or even not that close--will reveal some serious blues and some complicated dealing with it.

While 2013’s effort saw some incredible peaks, Vile’s new album has managed to forge a more consistent collection of songs built around simplicity and a shrugged shoulder approach to lyrics.

B'lieve I'm Goin Down... is an impeccably arranged album beneath its soothing, sleepy surface, with every element assisting in an illusion of deep, shimmering, and alluring melancholy.

B’lieve bears a much closer resemblance to Vile’s true breakout, 2011’s Smoke Ring for My Halo. But even though the late-night atmosphere carries over, the haze isn’t quite the same.

It’s alienation couched in the most genial manner; and along the way, he gets to muse over such matters as speech and silence, mysticism and medicine, relationships and reality, in a beautifully meandering song-cycle.

Although it doesn't quite live up to the greatness of Smoke Ring, it is a beautiful progression and subtle change in style and subject matter.

This darker edge lends substance to some of Vile's best songs to date. [Oct 2015, p.94]

As the LP continues, you are progressively engrossed. [Oct 2015, p.84]

Much of b’lieve remains mellower and more cognizant than Vile’s previous works, blending organic and inorganic sounds.

His latest LP is an endearing collection of slow-burning, dreamy arrangements, which find the singer wistfully contemplating the shifting nature of identity.

Perhaps it doesn’t thrill the same way his younger records thrilled with their wiliness and exuberance; but perhaps it was disillusioned by that type of thrill, and elected for something a little more reliable.

Lyrically, he's a seeker, but he could stand to get out more--"My whole world turnin' on the couch," he testifies at one point. But even when Vile's buggin', that couch remains a beautifully chill place to hang.

B’lieve i’m goin down is further evidence of Vile’s conclusive authenticity, and his position as one of songwriting’s most understated commodities.

Perhaps a bit too reticent for its own good, B'lieve I'm Goin Down still rewards close listening, steadily developing into an album that's as multifaceted and profound as its mysterious creator.

While B’lieve I’m Goin’ Down, at least as far as its words are concerned, is more interesting than it appears on the first few spins, that’s not quite enough to make it a memorable listen.

Of course, songs like the playful “Lost My Head There” and the searching “Dust Bunnies” could just as easily be about the consequences of excessive drug consumption or no-less excessive levels of modern stress, yet the persistence of the self-alienation motif amid slanted nods to his career in music end up strongly insinuating that his growing status as a rock icon is weakening the already weak hold he has over himself.