Human Highway, the collaboration between singer/songwriter Jim Guthrie and Nick Thorburn (of the Unicorns and Islands), took their name from a Neil Young country-rocker, so it should come as little surprise that Moody Motorcycle is a collection of genial, acoustic folk-rock, full of high harmonies and peaceful, easy feelings. Breezy platitudes abound ("Got nothing left, but it ain't bringin' me down/ I'm just gonna follow the sound", Guthrie sings.) The closest you're getting to perplexity on the album's first few songs is when Thorburn yawns, on "Get Lost": "Woke up early/ That's so unlike me." The acoustic guitars drifting gently in the background reinforce the impression; this is prime beach music, best accompanied by a shit-eating grin and a good beer buzz.
Jim Guthrie (grandson of Woody, by the way) played with Thorburn's main project Islands for a while, and the two have a nice chemistry. Their keening two-part harmonies, channeling the spirit of folk-rock duos past, provide the most obvious evidence; yet you can also witness their intuitive bond in the lilting rhythms of the songs, which rise and fall with the naturalness of contented sighs. Throughout Moody Motorcycle, Guthrie and Thorburn seem to be anticipating each other's movements, and the effect is both soothing and absorbing.
This cozy familiarity bleeds into every song, however, which works against the pair when they try to darken the mood. The title track, for instance, aims for brooding loneliness, managing instead only a glamourpuss pensiveness. Their cover of Billy Taylor's "I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to Be Free" (more famously covered by Nina Simone) drains the song's seemingly bottomless well of sadness and urgency. And as far as tributes to Santo & Johnny's still-beguiling 1959 instrumental "Sleepwalk" go, the version here ("Sleep Talking") has nothing on Modest Mouse's classic reimagining. Sometimes, Guthrie's chirpiness is grating; when he brightly announces, in "What World", "I eat too fast, all these foods I've made up/ Till the real ones all taste rotten," he sounds like Ralph Wiggum. And a few of the tunes ("The Sound" is the biggest offender) feel like castoffs from Guthrie's sideline as a jingle writer.
"Ode to Abner", on the other hand, conjures a glowing intimacy with just two minutes and a few beatifically sung, evocative couplets ("I was born in November/ In a small town/ I don't remember"). Human Highway work best in this inviting, flickering-campfire headspace, and for an amiable if ephemeral 40 minutes, Moody Motorcycle offers a pleasant soundtrack to the dwindling days of the summer.
