For a guy who can count five records of unapologetic sad-sacking to his name, Canadian husky Paul Hayden Desser sure has a cumbersome time with his chosen subject matter on In Field & Town, an album primarily concerned with-- nope, no surprises here-- a failed relationship. The snag: While past releases allowed Hayden to hang his hat on the fresh embers of harsh breaks, or the occasional song about Alan Balling for a sixteen-year-old, the mostly-yawn greys of the doomed romance he eulogizes here don't offer much in the way of inspiration.
"Take it easy, it's what we need to do now," Desser sings on the album-opening title track. What he means, of course, is a break. And considering the even-keeled delivery, and the songs that follow, nobody seems to argue with his reasoning. Which is either fodder for an interesting look at the death knell of a relationship, or the making of a totally boring break-up record. Hint: it's the latter. Hayden's depiction of restless bedmates ("The Hardest Part"), lying just to get caught ("Did I Wake Up Beside You?"), and oops, we-made-a-mistake incongruity ("More Than Alive") ring hollow throughout. So, understandably, the only song that doesn't focus on romance is the strongest. "Lonely Security Guard", a narrative about underestimating an origami-loving rent-a-cop (no, really), acts mostly like "Bass Song Part 2", complete with the line "so I grabbed the first thing that I saw," and a protagonist who spends at least part of the run-time laid out on the floor.
Musically, In Field & Town often eschews the proven strength of Desser-plus-guitar(-plus-harmonica) for sagging, if competently arranged, flesh-outs. "Worthy of Your Esteem" is a whirring synth-led pulse not far from the stuff Dave Bazan filled his last Pedro The Lion record with. Meanwhile, "Where and When" is a scuttling guitar strum set against insistent drums, and big, uncharacteristically prominent bass hustle. Sure, he's dabbled in this territory before, only with much more compelling material to back it up.
Even when the album plays to Desser's strong suits, exemplified in the short, sweetness of piano-led "The Hardest Part", it's not enough to overcome the prevailing semi-felt-ness of the thing. Such a problem that it curses the moments Desser actually dares to go for it, leaving his most diary-page lyrics seeming, at best, brash, and at worst, unbelievable. "I'm going to miss how bad this has felt," he sings on "Damn This Feeling". Nu-uh. On another record, it would seem old hat. Here, too left-field not to peg as melodrama. And that's the problem: after years of high highs and lower lows, such a flatline seems, well, pretty boring.
