After the triumph which was The Imperial, an album which marked not only Willy Vlautin’s new band as a pitch perfect setting for his emotionally raw vignettes but also served as proof (if needed) that singer Amy Boone amply rewarded Vlautin’s choice of her as his new voice with her wonderfully languid delivery. The Sea Drift is yet another winner for the band. On paper, it might be considered more of the same as Vlautin continues to portray a cast of drifters and grafters with some acuity and Boone breathes life into them, her voice hurt and bruised while the band lay down a soothing, soulful groove. However, this time around there’s more emphasis on the horn and string arrangements, a subtle shift but one which adds another layer to The Delines‘ take on “retro country southern soul,” adding a film noire element at times. While The Imperial centred on a downbeat motel, here the album takes place on the Gulf Coast, an area not too often captured in song. The album title recalls a section of Walt Whitman’s poetry collection, Leaves Of Grass, a section pertaining to the shore. The contrast between the presumably desirable coastal locations and the reality that life there is often grim hovers throughout.
The first two songs have the advantage of having been previewed earlier, accompanied by a pair of excellent videos. Little Earl is nothing less than the epitome of Vlautin’s spare writing style, its four short verses painting a picture which leaves one dying to know the full story of how a short assed kid – “Little Earl is driving down the Gulf Coast, sitting on a pillow so he can see the road” – while his brother lies bleeding in the back. It has a similar unhurried approach as many of the songs did on The Imperial and this continues on much of The Sea Drift but the next song, Kid Codeine, is one of their brisker outings. The heroine, always cool and easy, breezes through the song accompanied by horns, strings and a female chorus which all recall late sixties easy listening pop arrangements. Despite the “upbeat” arrangement there’s still a heart of darkness in the song and from here on in Vlautin really does dig deeper.
Drowning in Plain Sight is like an aural version of Diary Of A Mad Housewife, transposed to the working class south. Dolly Parton could take this song and make a hit of it but it wouldn’t be a patch on The Delines’ glacial delivery and Boone’s desperation. All Along The Ride is, if anything, even more desolate and again, Vlautin sets a scene perfectly, leaving us to imagine the intro and outro to this particular couple’s current isolation from each other. The delicate Spanish guitar which introduces Surfers In Twilight, an arresting tale with its very own Garden of Gethsemane denial moment, is joined by a mournful horn section giving the song an air not dissimilar to Miles Davis’s forays into Spanish themes and Davis is brought to mind on the two instrumentals written by trumpet and keyboard player Cory Gray. Lynette’s Lament and The Gulf Drift Lament both recall Davis on Ascenseur Pour L’Echafaud.
Hold Me Slow captures the languor and enervation of a love tryst in a humid sub tropical location while Past The Shadows is a reminder that several of the songs here are about escaping. This Ain’t No Getaway does offer a glimmer of hope as a woman gets out of a troubling scenario but she seems to accept that she’ll soon be in a similar position. The last song on the album, Saved From The Sea, is a torch song in effect with Boone crooning about a saviour of sorts, someone who “Makes me feel like my life ain’t been wasted, like my life ain’t just slipping away.” Here, it seems, Vlautin is saying that the proximity of the sea and the temptation to surrender to its depths is the get out clause for those ground down and wearied Southerners.
Ultimately, The Sea Drift finds The Delines with a fuller and richer sound and, while it’s in no way a concept album, listening to it is somewhat akin to reading Vlautin. Most of these songs could easily become short stories or even novels and perhaps some will. None of them are far removed from the subject of his latest book, The Night Always Comes, or indeed, any of his writings. But, with the help of Cory Gray, Freddy Trujillo, Sean Oldham, producer John Morgan Askew and especially Amy Boone, his words are brought to life here.
The story of The Delines (so far) could almost be the plot line of one of their songs. A band gets together, records an album of slow burning hangdog songs and then, just as they’re about to record a second, the singer is terribly injured when struck by a car. End of story? Except that the story doesn’t end there. Singer Amy Boone received severe injuries in the incident and is still recovering her full mobility but, three years on, she has recovered enough to record with and tour with the band who have just ended a triumphant UK tour.