Under the Donald J. Trump administration, singing about migration is an explicitly political act. But M. Ward is constitutionally predisposed towards mystery and understatement, so his Migration Stories sidesteps protests and outrages. The album, Ward’s 10th as a solo artist, unfurls at a deliberate pace, luxuriating in a dreamworld conjured out of memories, shared stories, and flights of fancy.
Though 21st-century headlines may have been Ward’s initial inspiration for Migration Stories, he declines to write about current controversies. Instead, they’re a context for Ward’s grander design, which is focused on the emotional and spiritual motivations for migration. Some of his intent stems from his own family history, specifically his grandfather’s journey from Mexico to the United States at the dawn of the 20th century. Ward doesn’t tackle this story directly. He instead evokes that era through a dreamy cover of “Along the Santa Fe Trail,” a tune written for the 1940 western film Santa Fe Trail, which he initially encountered in a version by the singing cowboy Jimmy Wakely.
Ward moves “Along the Santa Fe Trail” away from its origins and toward the spacy, untethered roots-rock that’s been his calling card for the better part of two decades. He traveled to Montreal to work with producer Craig Silvey—the first time he’s cut an album with a co-producer—at Arcade Fire’s studio, recording with band members Richard Reed Parry and Tim Kingsbury. All the new collaborators don’t radically reshape Ward’s music so much as expand its parameters. The difference between the new and old is made clear by the handful of tracks Ward recorded and produced on his own. “Chamber Music,” along with the instrumentals “Stevens’ Snowman” and “Rio Drone,” are delicate and contained, where the rest of the record seems to spread out across a starry sky.
Much of this picturesque quality stems from the subtle contributions of Parry and Kingsbury or, in the case of the album opener “Migration of Souls,” the spectral supporting vocals of the Lost Brothers. Harmonies float through the songs, intertwining with gossamer slides of synthesizers, the arrangements accentuating the dusty twang of Ward’s guitar and his whispered singing. Often, these sounds are felt as much as heard, adding depth and dimension to a collection of songs that suggest a faded nocturnal transmission from a mid-century radio station deep in the Southwest. Unlike 2016’s More Rain, the tempo never quite quickens (“Unreal City” is the only song with a propulsive pulse, but even that is muted) and the volume never rises. Nor is there a sense of levity—a quality that surfaced on 2018’s What a Wonderful Industry, Ward’s otherwise barbed letter to the music business. Migration Stories simply drifts along at its own lazy pace, letting its pretty textures become the connective tissue.
Sometimes, Ward’s words break through the haze. Images of families and lovers striving to reconnect, either in this world or the next, float to the surface, as do visions of traveling shows, David Bowie’s Major Tom, and displaced wanderers searching for a home they’ve seen only in dreams. All these passages paint a picture of souls in transition, literally and spiritually, hinting at the reasons people choose to leave their country for another. Ward’s decision to not directly confront the immigration horrors of modern times isn’t cowardly; it’s entirely in character. As a singer and songwriter, he specializes in miniatures and suggestions, taking indirect routes to simple truths.
Buy: Rough Trade
