For years Doug Paisley gigged around Toronto covering classic country songs in a series of curiously named acts such as Live Country Music and the Stanley Brothers: A Loving Tribute. After spending some time as one half of Russian Literature, he opened for Bonnie "Prince" Billy as Dark Hand and Lamplight, which involved playing acoustic songs while an artist displayed paintings behind him. Already he's had a storied career, so it's odd to think of his 2008 self-titled album as his debut and even harder to think of Constant Companion as only his second release. Both sound effortless and insightful, full of songs that draw you in with their peaceful, easy surface and then dump a big load of hurt on you.
Country remains Paisley's foundation, providing both a subject (relationships in various states of disrepair) and a musical approach that favors straightforward arrangements and spare instrumentation. But the twang in his voice has softened into a gentle burr that recalls the 1970s heyday of outdoorsy singer-songwriters, without putting too fine a point on the nostalgia. He's neither quite country nor folk anymore, but something in between, something that tends to get dismissed as sonic wallpaper by those who aren't willing to dig beyond the surface of the music. In that regard, Constant Companion exceeds Doug Paisley in terms of both the serenity of the surface and the hard truths lurking just beneath, drawing out more hummable melodies as well as more stinging observations. The pedal steel that helped define his debut's sense of isolation is gone, replaced this time by Garth Hudson on keys. The former Band member's counterintuitive piano and organ riffs enliven "No One But You" and "End of the Day", alternately taunting and consoling as he acts as a foil for Paisley-- a gremlin in the works. Subtle harmonies by Leslie Feist, Jennifer Castle, and Julie Faught of the Pining alleviate the loneliness only minimally.
Death and departure loom over Constant Companion, infusing even the smallest moments with a sense of loss and dread. "At the end of the long, long day/ Come go with me in the blue and the gray," he sings on "End of the Day". It sounds like a warm invitation until his real meaning sinks in: "There's no up there's no down/ And there's no way around." Those metaphysics-minded lines don't amount to a suicide pact necessarily, but they do comprise a chilling acknowledgement that every relationship inevitably ends, whether in tears or in death. All you have is yourself, that quietly disturbing album cover attests (seriously, take another look at it). And yet, Paisley's mood isn't woe-is-me dejection, but rather a stoic resignation to the fact that you're ultimately your own constant companion, for better or for worse.
