The rigors of touring resulted in Andrew Cedermark amicably parting ways with Titus Andronicus, his second solo LP was recorded in a number of former and current domiciles, and it contains songs with titles such as “Tiller of Lawn” and “Heap of Trash”. But why would you want a document of a 27-year old settling into a domesticated existence-- it’s the literal sound of a chore, no? Fortunately, Cedermark plays up the existential and philosophical issues that make “home” one of the most powerful and commonplace concepts in pop music. Even the quaint abode on its cover allows you to project your fears and ambitions onto it. If you’re thinking about starting a family one day, do you see conformity or comfort? If you’re an apartment dweller in a crowded metro area, do you see isolation or privacy?
There’s enough space to consider all of the above on Home Life, though Cedermark leans towards the latter of both those binaries. If there was ever an album that sounds like it was made to be listened to on the Saturdays when you’re in your boxers, easing out of your hangover with a noon beer, Home Life is it. Opener “On Me” welcomes the couch-bound and queasy by sending up Bill Withers with a simultaneous celebration and lament of dollar beer night, helping frame Home Life as relatable and grounded-- typically, an honest day’s work causes the people here to head out to bars and the next day’s work is the reason they have to call for their tab and a cab.
At the risk of projecting, both Cedermark and I resided in Charlottesville, Va., during our early 20s and though most of Home Life was recorded in upstate New York and New Jersey, it sounds like it’s fueled by memories of the Southern college town that Dave Matthews, Stephen Malkmus, and David Berman also once called home. There’s a shuffling, country pace to these songs and Cedermark’s droopy, drawled vocals evince a boozy bonhomie that you don’t hear too often north of the Mason-Dixon. The sound of Home Life is pure indie rock, though, produced by Kevin McMahon (The Monitor, Real Estate’s Days) with holistic intimacy; compared to the sizzling fuzz of Cedermark’s 2010 debut Moon Deluxe, this is a warm recording*,* capturing a couple of musicians in one room with limited pruning and letting the instruments bleed into each other. Stinging, lyrical guitar leads and Cedemark’s vocals weave together throughout, which can be something of a drawback. Though Cedermark made the lyrics available on his Blogspot, they can easily fade towards the background and give you the false impression that Home Life is meant to be a bashful work.
On the contrary, Cedermark’s lyrics on Home Life are well worth considering. Without getting too specific about geography or personal detail, its perspective is one of post-collegiate anxiety, a point where Cedermark is either worrying about the future, stuck on the past and, as a result, not really living in the moment as much as he could. A lot of Home Life is viewed from passing trains, most pointedly “Train Window Man”, where he tries to think of a way to describe the trees and piled-up beer cans he sees during his commute. He can’t come up with anything besides “sad,” which becomes its own form of sadness.
Most often, Home Life theorizes on how old friendships can endure and new ones can start when people are no longer in close quarters and bar nights become fewer and further between. “Canis Major” scans as a love song, albeit one concerned with how to get over yourself enough to love someone else, either romantically or platonically. He sighs, “My girl/ Chest heaves as she dreams/ Oh how I love her with my cicada-shell heart/ Sometimes I need you/ but I don’t know how to get there,” and it’s a deadpan moment of ridiculousness. He’s aware of his need for companionship, yet can’t communicate them to the person who is right there in his bed. On the subsequent “Canis Minor”, love is viewed with trippy logic as part divine intervention and cosmic joke, no less random than connecting two stars in the shape of a dog.
But while Cedermark is an ace guitarist and affecting lyricist, his songwriting isn’t quite as rigorous or sharp. The preworn familiarity of “On Me” makes it the standout by default, and it’s also the most memorable song by a fair margin. Though his former bandmate Patrick Stickles is an equally wordy lyricist, he typically writes melodies that are sturdy enough to handle the cramped verbiage. Conversely, Cedermark’s tend to follow the ambling path of his plainspoken prose. There are exceptions; the up-tempo surge of “At Home” is a welcome eye-opener while “Come Back” provides contrast with a solo performance that lets Cedermark air his doubts about his artistic process. It’s a self-aware moment on a self-aware record, though he’d be served well going a little further to connect with those who aren’t in the specific vibe that Home Life nails. Cedermark laments in “On Me” that “I've got a beer and nobody to lean on,” and if you’re a little nostalgic, a little tipsy and feeling pretty OK with all of that, Home Life is there when you need a hand.
