Damon McMahon’s work as Amen Dunes has been a process of expansion. The confined, loner vibe of his 2009 debut DIA sounded like it was made in a cabin in the woods—which it was—but it also hinted at wider vistas McMahon might someday explore. That promise was realized on 2011’s Through Donkey Jaw, as he extended his sonic palette while retaining his introspective bent. *Love *is an even grander step forward, both in the roster of musicians McMahon employs—including members of Iceage and Godspeed You! Black Emperor—and the more accessible, classic-leaning songs he’s written.
This also means that Love, in line with its broad title, is less unique than previous Amen Dunes efforts. There are more obvious reference points here—the solitary creep of Syd Barrett, the slow croak of Will Oldham, the bittersweet swing of David Kilgour, and the patient twang of Wooden Wand. But the decreased individuality actually makes the music stronger. McMahon is so open to (and adept at) simple melodies and turns of phrase that he’s bound to evoke lots of other good music along the way, as if he’s tapping into something more elemental.
Besides, as long as McMahon is singing, Amen Dunes will never sound quite like anyone else—and on *Love, *he sings better and more ambitiously than ever. Each song rises and falls with the elastic stretch of his voice, which makes shapes the way a glass blower inflates raw material into art. His voice does echo some other spirit-conjuring singers, particularly the warbled croon of Devendra Banhart. But where Banhart’s mannerisms can come off as affected, McMahon sounds like he’s trying to channel something bigger than himself—a goal at which he succeeds quite often.
That searching approach is reflected in McMahon’s wondering lyrics, which step toward a horizon that keeps receding. Though McMahon’s musings are often in the first person, he’s filled with uncertainty, fascinated and confused by the self and what he can know about it. He darts around the subject and skirts obvious meaning, recalling the way Oldham bent tangents on the latest Bonnie “Prince” Billy album. Even when McMahon hits on some answers, as in the bluntly-titled “I Know Myself”, he still questions and doubles back, over meditative acoustic strums that suggest his journey won’t end, and shouldn’t.
Still, when all of McMahon’s seeking comes together, the results can feel like the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. Two examples stand out: the loping “Lonely Richard” marches forward with one tempo and little chord variation, yet McMahon makes it sound like he's scaling a mountain, to the point where a chorus as objectively banal as “have yourself a good time” becomes bracingly profound. That’s topped only by “Lilac in Hand”, whose stoned lilt should by all rights sound lackadaiscal, even lazy. But again McMahon sees simplicity as a chance to explore and discover (an effect captured nicely by the tune’s blurry, black & white video). Building an expanding universe with just a few tools: it might not be a new trick, but it’s one McMahon continues to perfect with Amen Dunes.
