You’d never describe José González’s music as "confrontational," but Vestiges & Claws, his first solo album since 2007, offers an odd kind of ultimatum. After eight years of extreme cultural, political and artistic upheaval, it's likely that you're in a much different place than you were when In Our Nature was released. Meanwhile, the music of José González has not changed at all. Are you in or are you out?
Whether it’s his greatest asset or biggest sticking point, González endures while the context around him changes. Veneer had the benefit of timing, as Garden State and "The O.C." were redefining "alt-rock" as "indie." González evoked the spare beauty of Nick Drake’s Pink Moon but not the crippling emotional baggage, and he had a good ear for crowd-pleasing covers, easing fans into Kylie Minogue, Joy Division, and the Knife (prior to their Silent Shout about-face) when walls between genres seemed more solid. By 2007's In Our Nature, his name was mentioned alongside whispery and haunted projects like Bon Iver, Iron & Wine, and Sun Kil Moon; González is the only one that can still be described as whispery and haunted in 2015.
González self-produces on Vestiges & Claws and there’s an unvarnished, prickly edge to the recording. Even when others are in the room, the album feels solitary—the cello and flute on "The Forest" might as well be weaving in and out of González’s head. His best songs don’t unfold, exactly; instead, the cyclical guitar and vocal patterns sound like they’re adding invisible but perceptible layers. Though his vocals are as soft and supple as a down comforter, there’s an eerie quality to González’s restraint and levity. He reaches for high notes and hooks, but he never raises his voice—he’s post-anger, post-verse-and-chorus. His fingerpicking lends a percussive, rhythmic drive that can obscure the actual drums. The percussion on "Leaf Off / The Cave" is almost imperceptible under off-kilter, low-register riffs that sound like Trail of Dead arranged for a campfire singalong.
Though González’s music is pastoral in timbre and placid in pace, his songs ask big questions. How do you situate yourself in the world? What makes a person take dominion over another? How much time should a laborer set aside for leisure? How can you make your voice heard without crowding out those who feel less inclined to speak? His approach to songwriting has appeal in light of the stridency and self-righteousness of modern discourse. But González’s metaphors can also feel unnecessarily feathery or too general: "Every Age" buckles under the assumed weight of its introductory lyric ("Every age has its turn/ Every branch of the tree has to learn/ Learn to grow, find its way"), and while "Leaf Off / The Cave" boasts the record’s loveliest arrangement, the connection between the Garden of Eden and Plato’s Cave is specious and tenuous in a charming, AP English sort of way.
Even when Vestiges & Claws exudes strain, González never gives the impression of truly challenging himself. When he draws on the canons of both ancient philosophy and post-punk, he sounds like José González. Whether covering Massive Attack, Bruce Springsteen, or Low, he sounds like José González. Even when fronting a legitimate, kraut-influenced rock band in Junip, it just sounds like José González with the rhythmic tracework of his solo albums filled in. But as a record that so frequently meditates on unchanging human nature, that could just mean Vestiges & Claws achieved exactly what it set out to do.
