Iowa's Jordan Sellergren returns with another set of songs that, this time, remind us of how puny we are, how little we stand, but how great that can still be. She sings slightly, but purposely, of things like morning light, sneaky rains and the depths of human capacity. She sings of the bluffs along a river and, without even bringing them up, points out the ghosts that walk along them, motioning toward a natural ancestry that finds its way into the ways we growing into walking and how we wear a hat, or how we deliver a look of genuine sadness.
We need her dedication to these words and her guitar. We need her to explain things or to frame them in such a way that it gives us the same satisfying feeling that we get after a great meal that takes all night to get through - not based on volume, just based on the company, the conversation, the quality of it all and the great wine washing it all down. We need her to write so romantically about the soft pains and the hard pains that ripple through us and sometimes bury themselves into our pores and veins. We need her to do this so badly that we don't want her studying anything other than what she's thinking and feeling at the time. These folk songs that she writes come from this place, some place that's so beautiful and known for its weariness.