After years of sharing an apartment, in 2019, Great Grandpa weren’t sure when they would all be in the same room, let alone be making music together. When the Seattle "snack rock" start-up did shack up again, they made one of the year's best albums with Four of Arrows. Work on their follow-up began in earnest the following fall, though life, uh, found a way to get in their way. But just as the tide is swayed by the moon, slowly but surely, all five members returned into each other’s orbit. It might take time for the stars to align, but Patience, Moonbeam is nothing shy of luminous.
As advertised, Patience, Moonbeam is a grower. The album opens with a stir of anticipation not unlike a darkened theatre, only for proper opener "Never Rest" to sink into a bed of fingerpicking that’s soft and inviting as a lullaby. It's not until the string section quivers with newborn parental anxiety that the band even think to crank their amps.
I'll admit; I was disappointed. Four of Arrows lands somewhere between Sharon Van Etten's Are We There and Julien Baker's Little Oblivions on my short list of the very best post-commercial peak indie rock has to offer. But Great Grandpa are just now hitting their peak. Al Menne's elastic warble would stick out on the most vanilla coffeehouse playlist, though he's never sounded more at home than twirling amidst dusty violin on "Junior". Patience, Moonbeam might not break new ground, but by cultivating their roots in freak folk and alt-country, this band have grown into the West Coast equivalent of Big Thief. The album leans heavier on pedal steel than distortion pedal, but even the deepest, darkest moments crackle with electricity. Like weeds creeping into a corn maze, proggy fretwork drags "Doom" down into grungy existential murk before reaching revelation. "It's funny how I need you", Menne strains against surging power chords, braced by Carrie Goodwin's gentle but persistent bass.
Like all Great Grandpa albums, Patience, Moonbeam
is a family affair. Carrie's husband Pat Goodwin shouldered the
songwriting and lyric duties, but this stands as the band's most
collaborative effort. Every member is credited throughout the liner
notes, as each song underwent a lengthy incubation process. "It's closer when I see you",
Menne repeats on "Emma", now singing as Dylan Hanwright deconstructs a
similarly doomy melody into synthetic particles of light. Dropping
springs of banjo and free associations to Mamma Duggar and Donald Glover
on a GQ cover into squiggly acid house should land with a
splat. But "Ladybug" is colored by the joy one associates with childhood
or early Animal Collective. Even the lesser gambles pay off. "Kiss the
Dice" luxuriates in the quiet self-confidence one hopes to reach with
middle age, rolled steadily along by bowed marimba.
If anything dims my enthusiasm, it's that Patience, Moonbeam can feel disjointed. "Ephemera" slips drummer Cam LaFlam into a trip hop trance. "Tell me tell you what's down the garbage chute",
riddles Menne, so rinsed with vocoder that the song could be mistaken
for another band. Meanwhile, the title track is mere connective tissue
and a flimsy one at that, an unintelligible slur of voices that's gone
before you can miss it.
Perhaps that's the point. Since Four of Arrows, Great Grandpa have shot off in different directions. "I saw the years / Turn to seconds / little grains", Menne remembers during a run-in with an old friend's mom at Sam's Club. In the lyrics department, Patience, Moonbeam
loves to wax poetic, but my favorites find meaning in the mundane.
Incredibly, there's not a wink of ironic detachment to "Top Gun", just a
passing acknowledgement that time snatches away whatever we hold dear. "We praised your heart smiling, knowin' / Wish you the best".
In the end, what holds Patience, Moonbeam together is the band's commitment to each other. "You had changed, but the heart of you was still the same",
they sing as "Task" lifts into heavenly acoustic strumming like an
ascendant Sufjan Stevens. Such comparisons can read as reductive, but I
only reference these artists to spell out the rarefied air that Great
Grandpa now occupy. Besides, this album was inspired by a certain other
fab five. That it ends with a multi-part piece of chamber pop worthy of
comparison to Abbey Road's majestic B-side is miraculous – and
not just because it was the only song salvaged from those initial
recording sessions. "Kid" was written after Pat and Carrie lost their
first pregnancy. Sharing that pain with our increasingly hostile world
shows courage. But trusting another person to do right by your emotions
takes a leap of faith. "I just want to stumble hard and tell you everything is fine again", Menne pleads with a melody that's delicate and hopeful as a broken heart.
God only knows if Great Grandpa will ever top Patience, Moonbeam. For now, let's cherish it. After all, with this album, they've proven you can't rush greatness.
