For Eden

An all-purpose roots rocker with a heart of Acapulco Gold, Boy Golden is the friendliest guy you've never met. The Manitoban trouble-loving troubadour made a splash on the scene back in 2021 with the raucous and formidable debut, Church of Better Daze. To paraphrase the late, sedate Lynyrd Skynyrd, that sweeeeeet southern guitar and honky-tonk jam sensibility made the album a Winnipeg summertime staple. It's obvious that Boy Golden's music is the earnest by-product of a man wracked with influence yet forever dreaming pastoral, even when he flirts with punk or pseudo-psychedelia.Proselytization of the heart-shaped herb as part of your brand is a populist approach, true, but his Church of Better Daze (both backing band and gently suggested doctrine) also espouses a philosophy that's refreshingly honest; holistic living as just another means to the end of getting lifted. And the band is incredible, by the way, like the greatest night you'll never remember at the Times Change(d) High and Lonesome Club. Boy Golden's tone and turns of phrase suggest he's just as comfortable in the jacket Dean and Dylan wore as he is being mistaken for one of the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers.A nasal croon and TVZ stream-of-consciousness approach have ingratiated him with folksters thus far, but after the second helping EP For Jimmy last year, the mood's all changed on second outing For Eden. Boy Golden has been the best of the clown, joker and guy stuck in the middle all rolled into one, but the vicissitudes of the business have taken their toll. Here, the mood is somber, the focus less on the feeling and more on the ruminations that come when you're done feeling good. It's all foretold on "Mountain Road," when he proclaims that he had, "Been wearing the same thing for coming a year / But I'm thinking of changing my style." And it's not necessarily an inelegant transition, as disarming as it is."Here to Stay" introduces us to another side of Boy Golden, preoccupied with time in all forms: nostalgia, memories of love, the ephemeral yet sweet smell of success. Boy Golden and his banjo play Didi and Gogo for the rest of the record as he sits and wonders why, why, why? to no avail, the Church of Better Daze left behind in the search for his soul (for better or for worse). The lyricism is still playful in its imagery and local in iconography while also naked in its confession."Mesmerized" has our Boy unambiguously malign his own burgeoning stardom, as he cries "Fuck being famous," a sentiment less trite than it reads on paper. It's a deceptively profound moment where the paradox of successfully evangelizing happiness in exchange for your own makes a weird sort of sense."Boy" is an anxiously self-reflexive and low-toned dirge that indicates Boy Golden is likely gleaning influence from nights spent with the Real Love crowd. The new self-consciousness may just be a by-product of smoking too much reefer, but it's just as likely the next step in the cycle of enlightenment.Local talents FONTINE and Roman Clarke contribute vocals and percussion respectively to a startingly stark outing for an artist who never spared any prior expense and always knew exactly where to use it. It's maybe selfish to ask for the soaring highs of Church worship when Boy Golden is swinging so low, but why not dance with the one that brung ya? Their presence is sorely missed on what should be Boy Golden's Nebraska, perfect in its isolation."The Way" is my cut of choice, inspiring and illuminating like a prairie sunrise with a hell of a hook, while "Your Love (Where It's At)" pulls you close enough to smell the kombucha on his breath and warm your heart. Then, closer "Untitled" comes clutch with a unifying thesis statement for the record. "You'd sell your soul for a dime" is aimed at an ethereal muse before a spoken word statement and all-encompassing closing lyric: "Nothing but my whole life," whatever that means.While Boy Golden doesn't misstep, per se, never am I swept away in the aural tide like the last few song cycles. That's not to diminish his knack for instrumentation, songwriting and personality, a rare triumvirate. But like a Jack Kerouac scroll before the fat is trimmed, the division of the tracks is mostly perfunctory; this is his soul unfurled in a long strand. There's none of the grandeur found on the eponymous track of Church of Better Daze, sacrificing dynamism for cohesion. They grow up so fast. Manitoba Gothic is a compelling portrait, but I liked when Boy Golden was about the freewheelin' above all else. If only he were younger than that now.