This has been a great year for solo acoustic guitarists. So far in 2013, three of that instrument’s masters-- William Tyler, Glenn Jones, and Chuck Johnson-- have made possibly the best albums of their respective careers, while Nathan Salsburg and Bill Orcutt are poised to do the same soon. But apparently Danny Paul Grody isn’t afraid of competition. Having already made two solid LPs in the past three years, he decided to get more ambitious and expansive on his latest, Between Two Worlds. And guess what? It might be the best album of his career.
It also manages to carve out a sonic niche in an arena full of them. Grody’s approach stands out for a lot of reasons, but two in particular fascinate. First, his songs are more about repetition than melody, more about hypnosis than hook. There are memorable note patterns all over Between Two Worlds, but a deeper impression is left by the way Grody turns them into mantras. His playing stretches time, making even his busiest passages patient and meditative. There’s a reason he called one of the best tracks here “Time Spirals”.
In addition, Between Two Worlds is a singular acoustic guitar album simply because it’s more than an acoustic guitar album. It starts off as one, with three songs focused on Grody’s ringing string work. But as the album winds forward, he subtly adds other elements-- piano chords, synth drones, tape manipulation, wordless vocals-- to accent and surround his guitar. This evolution from simple strands to denser fields happens naturally, bolstered by Grody’s experience crafting larger environments with Tarentel and the Drift. So by the time closer “Ojito (At Sunset)” arrives, its long, space-filling tones feel like the logical extension of earlier finger-picked figures.
Before you get that deep into Between Two Worlds, though, take some time to get lost in those first three tracks. On each, Grody gradually massages a loop of notes, crafting a spectrum of shapes and colors without ever deviating far from his starting point. I’m especially intoxicated by “You, the Invisible”, which begins as a kind of one-man funeral march with slow strums and dramatic pauses. But as the pace quickens and the gaps close, Grody hits an ecstatic rush while steadfastly maintaining a sense of gravity.
That range of moods persists as Between Two Worlds shifts focus from string-plucks to held tones. Grody never really gets light-hearted; most of the time the atmosphere is pretty heavy. But it’s hard to imagine anyone getting bummed out by any part of Between Two Worlds. Even its most somber moments are infused with optimism-- a trust that non-verbal sound can, when played well, express pretty much any emotion imaginable.
