There are a lot of ways not to say what you meant. Maybe you can’t find the words; maybe you just can’t choke them out. Maybe their intended recipient isn’t here and never will be. Noah Weinman, the singer-songwriter behind the melancholy bedroom-folk project Runnner, lands in all of these positions across his new album, Like Dying Stars, We’re Reaching Out. His official debut for Run for Cover follows a string of Bandcamp releases and 2021’s Always Repeating, a collection of early tracks that reflected on themes of inadequacy and longing. Like Dying Stars, We’re Reaching Out is no less moody, but here, Weinman’s sound is notably developed, prioritizing texture and nuance over the simpler, acoustic-forward approach of his earlier work. Through exhausted introspection and anxious inner questioning, his songs explore breakdowns in communication and how we’re set adrift when words fail.
“I’m an idiot; I cried in your car when I couldn’t find the words I was looking for,” is how Weinman opens one of the album’s catchiest tracks, “i only sing about food.” Self-loathing, and the storing up of unspoken sentiments like kernels of missed potential, is a constant undertone. “I only think about death, I only sing about food,” he eventually admits: If he can’t bring himself to voice his darkest fears, at least he can confess to that inability. As he repeats the line over a warm, shimmering synth refrain, there’s a feeling of relief and redemption. The unostentatious nature of the lyrics leaves room for the song itself to fill the gaps between admission and implication. On the sorrowful “bike again,” as Weinman imagines telephoning somebody he presumably shouldn’t, he simply sings, “Hi, I’m…,” his voice plaintive and rich with harmonies. Twined piano and banjo elevate the unfinished statement into a surrender.
When Weinman’s naturalistic, imperfect recording style picks up the tick of a clock or the hum of an air conditioner, the background noise fosters intimacy even as his layered compositions create distance. Ambient synths populate many of the slower tracks, forming gentle currents of emotional conflict. They sound the opening notes of “plexiglass,” then sit in the background for the whole song, like a nagging reminder. On “scabpicker,” where Weinman describes a lonely drive spent torturing himself with his thoughts, a swell of synth rises from the monotone guitar strum. The quick rush of color soon fades back into depressive apathy, as if a pair of oncoming headlights had suddenly revealed a different perspective only to plunge back into darkness.
As Weinman recounts all the fumbled admissions and unsent letters, the unstated implication is that these songs, almost all addressed to an undefined “you,” take their place. But whether his words ever reach their original targets isn’t really the point. There’s a deliberate artlessness to the songwriting, a cathartic late-night honesty that still feels robust in the morning. While Runnner’s music is easily compared to folk-inspired labelmates past and present (Field Medic, Pinegrove), the bleary atmosphere and humble commitment of Like Dying Stars, We’re Reaching Out mark a welcome delineation of identity.
