Boom or ruin. The meaning of "post-war" changes depending on whether or not your side won. The term is likely to keep its basically positive connotation in the U.S. at least until everyone who remembers the late-1940s is dead. I'm unsure what war M. Ward is referring to in the title of his fifth album, or even if he had a specific war in mind, but a time of active war seems like an odd time to consider the sentiment. The reality of human nature also means that every post-war is also a pre-war-- every generation spills blood sooner or later.
The title track sheds a bit of light on where Ward's mind is, and that's to say he's right about where he usually is. Ward's post-war is internal, relational; it's adjusting to new realities, both pleasant and not. Backed with electric piano and shaker-- a sort of slow-motion r&b setting-- Ward's endearingly creaky tenor softly draws the line between then and now: "You say the money just ain't what it used to be/ Man how we used to tear apart this town/ Put a dollar into the machine and you'll remember how." The humidity is so high in the arrangement that I swear my speakers got wet.
That humidity comes and goes on Post-War, Ward's first record with a full-time backing band. Having the band doesn't fundamentally change his approach, but it does boost the immediacy of some of his songs. The overall flow of the album is also much more focused than in the past, with 12 songs and very few transitional scraps and mood pieces. If those little bits of ephemera carried a large part of the charm load on his earlier albums, they're not missed very sorely here-- beautifully realized songs and great musicianship have a way of making up for something like that.
And these are some truly beautiful songs. Live strings spar with mellotron strings on "Poison Cup", a gorgeous and intense love song that begins, "One or two won't do/ 'Cause I want it all...I hope you know what I'm thinkin' of/ I want all of your love." The song leaves Ward's familiar intimacy behind for timpanis and grandeur, but he doesn't shed a drop of emotion in the transition. "Requiem" storms in with raw blues picking, and from there twists Ward's most-visited theme-- loss-- into an unusually triumphant tribute to a man who "stormed with his feet and clapped with his hands/ (And) summoned all of his joy when he laughed." "In war he was a tiger/ And in peace he was a dove" is just one of the dualities Ward gives his character in the kind of obituary anyone would love to have written about him.
Ward nearly equals the shear majesty of My Morning Jacket's "Golden" on "Chinese Translation", which features MMJ's Jim James on backing vocals. The song's "what do you do with the pieces of a broken heart" refrain and acoustic/electric guitar duel hit home like hammers. The cover of Daniel Johnston's "To Go Home", with Neko Case handling the harmonies, is amazing, musically reminiscent of Wilco at their Summerteeth/Yankee Hotel Foxtrot peak. Not everything is so substantial. "Magic Trick" is essentially a quick joke about a girl whose only trick is disappearing, while "Neptune's Net" is a fun but inconsequential surf instrumental (strangely, it doesn't sound out of place).
Changing his approach has rewarded M. Ward pretty handsomely on Post-War. The Transfiguration of Vincent is still my favorite Ward album by a hair, but this one isn't going far from my player for long. Post-War isn't perfect, but it's all the more listenable for that fact.
