Believe it or not, I wasn’t really into folk music before I joined a blog focussed on progressive metal. Things pan out like that sometimes – strangely wholesome, don’t you think? Anyway, that’s not the point of my introduction. Originally, there were two types of (indie) folk I was into: the Bon Iver school of atmospheric, melancholic folk, and the more grounded Iron & Wine types; emotionally charged, the lot of them. By now, my tastes have expanded, and thank God they did, because Sam Moss falls into neither category as snugly as I might’ve initially hoped.
Swimming is the perfect bridge between the folk that drew me into the genre and the more rootsy, deeply American styles that formed the bedrock of this style of musical storytelling over half a century ago. Yes, the modern stylings resonate throughout this beautifully distinctive album, but the underpinnings of rural America can’t be subtracted out of it without losing a certain modicum of its charm. Even without fancy accompaniments or the ever-popular electronic augmentations, Moss wrings a lot of ambiance out of his compositions, leaving a lot of breathing room for his peculiar but distinctly beautiful singing voice.
This dichotomy, the meeting of old and new at the crossroads is perhaps the most American myth I could ever hope to pin onto a record, but it definitely applies to Moss’s latest. Swimming thrives off the old-school feel that comes from the implications of country and Americana within its sounds and song structures, and yet it feels decidedly modern, much more in step with contemporaries like those mentioned above than the originators of folk music. It almost feels like Moss breathes that age-old spirit into a new vessel, trying to preserve as much of it as possible without losing touch with our current reality.
It also helps that Moss is a good storyteller, delicate but confident in his way with words. The overall tone struck on Swimming is reserved, swinging between joyful reminiscence and melancholy; that’s how I perceive it, at least. His singing is unadorned but rich in color – there is no pretence to the way he strings together his vocal lines, no ironic cool to hide behind. His words and voice ooze an earnest hospitality, inviting you into the embrace of these 10 tracks; don’t worry, you can stay as long as you want – as long as you need.
It really does feel like you’re in Moss’s living room, a burgundy corduroy pillow to sit on and a warm cup of rooibos tea in your hand, and he’s just playing these songs for you – for you, and just for you, nobody else. A casual exchange of feeling, a soft admiration for the beauty that unfolds. As the afternoon light turns amber and the air grows rich with the scents streaming in from the open windows, you’re left to drop your anxieties for once and give yourself to the moment… Swimming, as it stands, in an atmosphere that’s rich and calming.
Music does paint pictures in your head, it really does (even if you’re afflicted with a mild case of aphantasia – take it from me). Moss conjures earthy tones and gentle pastels, a rustic charm within modern aesthetics. I’ve inhabited this space for a few spins of Swimming by now, and I’m always loathe to leave. I may just stay a little while longer; care to join me, stranger?
