It was never a secret that Willy Mason is a seeker. "Gotta keep movin', gotta keep movin', gotta keep moving with a troubled mind a-followin'." Those were the first words of his 2005 debut, Where the Humans Eat. As auditions from singer-songwriters go, Humans was all over the map, comfortable both in its stylistic diversions and idiosyncratic touches. Wistful longings, blues fevers, didactic flurries-- it was all there. When Mason sang about traveling, individuality, and solidarity, he was an imperfect guy moving with a worn guitar. Compelling even if sometimes a bit naïve, Mason made for a believable seeker.
For If the Ocean Gets Rough, Mason's second LP and his debut for Astralwerks, he moves like the wanderer he's always been. He self-identifies among the hobos on closer "When the Leaves Have Fallen" and equates the water in his soul to a brisk river rushing toward the ocean for "Riptide". During "When the River Moves On"-- textually, the smartest song here-- Mason casts his peregrinations in three different contexts: First, as a brother trying to absolve a jealous dispute over a shared lover; second, as a mother's son who needs to leave the comforts of home to find himself; and third, as a Christian who needs to leave his religion's shelter to find fairness. But the itinerant wanderer on the major label runs the risk of sounding like a citizen on a hill. He's so free because he's simply done with the rest of us, you know? That's the albatross-- and the catch-- that cripples If the Ocean Gets Rough.
Ocean is in need of a hill, or something; completely conventional, it finds space for nearly every singer-songwriter platitude of the past 40 years beneath one square, 11-song bill. It's plenty catchy and big, but it's also wildly uncreative and predictable. The zest that Mason once brought comes swallowed by a production approach that blends the most stock breeds of alt-country and 1970s singer-songwriters. Even John Mayer ("3x5") and Dave Matthews ("When the World Ends") have put more adventurous spins on redemption-in-hiding songs. Just feel the mandolin rain wetting the dusty, open road of opener "Gotta Keep Walking", or hear the gospel choir of "When the River Moves On" lending the singer the strength he needs to sever his ties. Maybe the stock strings-- dark and brittle on the gloomy "Simple Town"; ascending and redemptive on "Riptide"-- restore Mason's fire? Nope: If Mason's purpose in traveling is to find something different, he wandered into the wrong studio for Ocean.
What's more, Mason's lyrics have lost their character-via-quirk. Hackneyed production comes met by images of drop-out dreams, broken levees, and saving oneself. If Ocean does anything, it proves that Mason is just another songwriter with a straightforward voice and a limited scope of what coming-of-age songs can be. He's heard Bob Dylan's "Restless Farewell" and equated its exhausting loneliness with Jackson Browne's studio-waxed sadness on "These Days". He's emerged with a completely sterile, somewhat condescending hybrid. Maybe he can find something a bit more fresh when he gets moving, but maybe not: This spring, he will tour the mid-sized rock clubs of America for a tour with labelmate Sondre Lerche. For fans of Mason-- who's built a following with house shows and an allegiance aim to intimacy-- it will be a telling loss, watching their troubadour from below. But they should be fine: If you're still around after If the Ocean Gets Rough, you'll probably be used to cold shoulders and hundred-yard stares, anyway.
