It's a rare occurrence to have something so academic and clearly considered come off as playful and laid-back as these songs do, but the layers of instruments never outshine the glowing optimism and simple joy of Lynch's songwriting.
Lynch stacks instruments until the tracks almost can’t hold any more—once he starts pouring the mead in the mug he almost doesn’t know when to stop.
Where previous works remained cloistered in the relative haze of their home-recorded bliss, Lines steps out into the open, sidling closer to traditional song structures and embracing a slight fidelity boost, one echoed in the crisper vocal production.
Lynch seems comfortable here, scattering out another set of question marks, his unassuming approach etched in just a little harder with every passing release.
The incongruent elements that Lynch utilizes in Lines conjoin into a collective force, accentuating all the minimal moments that embellish his peculiar arrangements without ever affecting the momentum of the songs.
A fair and fine experiment in folk that sees a more mature and worldly Lynch gently come to the fore.