On January 13, 2018, an emergency alert lit up phones throughout Hawaii, warning of a ballistic missile approaching the island. “SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER,” it read. “THIS IS NOT A DRILL.” Among the recipients were Will and Elsa Hansen Oldham, who had recently arrived at Hawaii Volcanoes National Park as artists-in-residence and who were suddenly preparing to spend their last moments together. Calmly, the couple ate some THC-infused blueberries that they had been gifted by a friend—why let them go to waste?—and Will began writing a whimsical new song to calm his nerves. “When life is tough and very scary,” it went, “My wife and I/We chomp a blueberry.” By the end of the song he distilled its message to just three words: “We’ll be fine.”
And so they were. About forty minutes after the alert was sent, it was revoked; a result of human error. Life went on. When the Oldhams returned home to Louisville, Kentucky, Oldham painted his entire body blue and shot a video for “Blueberry Jam,” a song whose giggly absurdity in the face of death turned out to be the only rational response. It was not the only thing he wrote during his time in Hawaii, but for the time being it was all he felt comfortable sharing. A full album was coming together—his first official collection of new Bonnie “Prince” Billy songs since 2011’s Wolfroy Goes to Town—but he had mixed feelings. With a deep hatred toward streaming services and the internet’s infinite content scroll, he described his reluctance toward releasing new original music like a parent leaving a teenager at a party. It felt irresponsible.
Now that he’s released it, I Made a Place gives insight into his trepidation. It’s careful, contemplative music. But that doesn’t mean it’s unguarded. While peers and collaborators like Bill Callahan and Phil Elverum have evolved toward songwriting that lays bare their most primal worries and beliefs, Oldham has only burrowed deeper into life’s mysteries. His work remains defined by its complexity, as many of these 13 songs take the form of advice delivered like riddles. “Put your body on and get a new memory box,” goes the chorus of its opening song. “I got the eye of the squid/It ain’t not there, it’s just hid,” is another. Early in his career, Oldham’s merging of traditional folk music with his willfully obscure persona felt like the epitome of indie dedication: his invite-only universe away from the status quo. In 2019 it feels arguably even more anachronistic.
The band he assembled for these songs helps bring him down to earth. The always-riveting duo of singer-songwriter Joan Shelley and guitarist Nathan Salsburg offer a soothing counterpoint, like concerned friends during a bad trip. Take “You Know the One,” an autumnal highlight, where he sings about devotion to “the one” that could be either spiritual or romantic (“Complete transfiguration is what the one is bound to bring”). Shelley’s soft, resolute harmonies and Salsburg’s trilling riffs expose the warmth in these words—what true connection feels like. The darker, second half of the record is buoyed by Jacob Duncan’s clarinet and saxophone, making it pleasantly difficult to tell where one song ends and the next begins.
The lived-in sound of the record belies how different some of this music is for Oldham. “Look Backward On Your Future, Look Forward To Your Past” is a song unlike anything in his deep catalog, a morality tale that seems to take inspiration from both John Prine and William Faulkner. You don’t expect a narrative with a beginning, middle, and end from Oldham’s songwriting (even the song title, repeated throughout the record, seems to fight against this formality). But with his lively solo acoustic delivery, he makes it feel as natural as a country standard. Often his writing is best at its simplest. “Dream Awhile,” which shares a melody with “Triumph of Will” from his 2013 self-titled release, prescribes combating stress with a good night’s sleep, a jar of cookies, and a loved one to spoon. It is the most settled Oldham’s work has ever sounded.
So while “Blueberry Jam” doesn’t actually appear on the record, its themes of simple pleasures and persistence echo through the music. In the last few years, Oldham became a father, and he has noted how these songs were the first that his daughter heard. His message of hope to the next generation rings clearest in “Building a Fire,” a psalm-like ballad that closes the record. His best work in this style includes some of his barest love songs—say, “I Gave You” or “I Called You Back”—but this one follows a stranger path through the darkness. “Yesterday was a lark/And today is a bear,” he sings. “Tomorrow is an octopus/You can look for me there.” It’s a funny send-off to one of Oldham’s most complicated albums, but it’s also poignant in its way. If you’re left confused or disoriented, that’s exactly Oldham’s point. Welcome, he seems to say, we’ve been waiting for you.
Buy: Rough Trade
