Reinvention is an unnatural, exhausting endeavour - however, with this incarnation of Moonface, Krug has found solace in the simple beauty of Julia With Blue Jeans On.
And it’s a triumph. I’d be the last to complain if Krug continued his trend of re-enacting the career of Brian Eno but this is the true departure: an album so intimate and romantic that few in recent memory compare.
Like the image which adorns the cover, sometimes it’s good to just take in the wonder of the simple things, and the modest but pensive charm of this album is well worth getting lost in.
The piano has displaced Krug's veil of intellect and mystery. What remains is something warm, something sentimental, something beautiful. Spencer Krug has never sounded better.
Julia with Blue Jeans On eschews the brooding and reductionist, synth-heavy art-pop of previous outings for an even more austere approach, offering up an evocative and emotionally present set of stripped-down asymmetrical love songs that pairs Krug's distinctive voice with a lone baby grand piano.
Julia has the feel of a one-session recording—the acoustics render each song as if it’s following the last, and as if Krug barely broke between them—but it takes place more formally in the heart.
Krug’s skills at the piano are nuanced, and, sure, the songs themselves tend to drift together, a throng of storm clouds coalescing into one billowing mass of slate grey. Yet, lightning cracks within
The songs fade into each other, often making it difficult to observe a track change, with certain lyrics or melody choices ringing true
There are moments on Julia where he succeeds in creating the important and honest music he wants to make. Of course, when you’re using a shotgun, you’re bound to hit something.
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