Written, recorded, played, produced, mixed, and mastered entirely by himself over the period of about a year in San Francisco, California, the prolific multi-instrumentalist Sam Hirst set out with the goal of making an album that, in his own words, “works as a cohesive experience instead of just a collection of songs.” The resulting album – his 8th in 8 years – is a fine mixture of musical ambition and impressive singular vision.
The album begins with the prior single Little Thief. With its distinctive lo-fi slacker rock lilt, it brings to mind a blend of Pavement, Darwin Deez, and Television. There are moments where – as the song reaches its apex – the instrumentation gets a little more unhinged but only ever so briefly, reverting swiftly back to its rhythmic, hypnotic throb. Textured, warm, poppy, charming, and well-crafted, Little Thief has previously been reviewed on the site by Greg Gobel, which you can read here.
Up next is the title track. Defenseless, good keeps the hypnotic nature of the first song going but with an altogether different feel. Where the last one was relatively breezy, this one feels darker, epic, and more sinister. Led by the piano as opposed to the guitar, this one throbs in a different way. More bassy, it also incorporates what sounds like a sitar and moments of slide guitar, perhaps. The overarching tone is an experimental and almost psychedelic one (a sensation which will recur over the course of the album’s eight songs). We’re further reminded of modern rock contemporaries like Brendan Benson and The Strokes, as well as classic boundary pushers like The Beatles.
This is followed by Crow which features some of the most ragged moments the album has produced so far. Beginning with an urgent guitar riff and matching drums, the bass eventually comes in, and the scene is set. The lo-fi charm remains as the mix is far from orthodox, but it absolutely works. Imbued with personality and individuality, Crow is emblematic of the album’s sonic identity. “You can make your own rules,” Hirst sings as a bevy of backing vocals comes in, and we couldn’t have put it better ourselves. Operating outside the confines of conformity, it seems that Sam has crafted an album that marches to the beat of its own drum. And we’re only on the third track.
Judy Garland is funky as fuck (there’s a sentence we never thought we’d write). Opening with an infectious, groove-based rhythm section and peppered with additional instrumentation, the pieces go together like a finely crafted jigsaw puzzle. Still feeling rather low-key, it slinks along with a confidence and assuredness that belies the humility of the one-man music machine. Over time, the song grows and becomes larger and more anthemic. Again, the mix is unconventional (you can often barely hear the cymbals in the verses, in relation to the other drums – for example), but again, it works. One of the things that Sam tells us about the album is that he was “always chasing honesty over polish,” and that shines through here.
Make No Mistake begins with a gentle, barely there guitar before his now-familiar rhythm section joins in. Feeling a bit like Elliott Smith in the early going, in due course, we’ll come to the conclusion that this track features the most experimental arrangements so far, with the drums in particular leading the way. They get remarkably skittish on this one, shifting and shuffling in a spellbinding way, and the guitar becomes spidery and surprising at around a third of the way through. It also features some of the most abstract lyrics that the album has had thus far. Lines like “my money’s in drag / my head is in the back of a car” and “there’s a wasp in my house / with his Japanese blouse / and he can’t make up his mind” add a distinctly surreal touch, but our personal favourite is the witty and self-deprecating “I get by on my looks / no one said they were good”. Over the course of the song, it circles back to its more regimented starting point but flits between these two states in a way that compels and contents.
No Parachute starts with a soft acoustic guitar but is quickly joined by another very strong bass and drum pairing. It actually continues this way for the whole song – the backbone becoming the star of the show, with the other instruments gently dancing around it. This one seems to be more about the groove than anything else, but the lyrics – or rather, the way in which they are delivered – again stand out. Reminiscent of Radiohead in their peak In Rainbows-era, this feels lackadaisical and whimsical; it creates its own little microcosm in which you are welcome to live, in peace, harmony, and wonky musicality. Speaking of musicality, She Can Dance feels like an instant classic. Borrowing as much from yesteryear as it seems to lean into the sound of today, there are elements of acts ranging from Neil Young to Cameron Winter here. It shimmers and glimmers and glides and vibes and is full of undeniable soul. This one is a trip.
The album concludes with Pretty Bird (Old Tennessee) which is probably the most classic-sounding song we’ve encountered so far. At least that’s the impression it gives as it begins. The intro introduces us to an acoustic ballad, one that’s tender and traditional, and the song remains this way for the majority of its three and a half minutes. But, as it chugs along, it grows subtly in stature and scope. Having eventually navigated through a kaleidoscopic haze of sound and after being mesmerised by the musical mosaic, by the time it concludes, it feels a world apart from where we started.
Across the length and breadth of the record, the songs move between earnest folk, art rock, indie vibes, old school psychedelia, and even more experimental arrangements, but the album as a whole has a distinctive identity and bundles of character. We think that Sam should consider that mission well and truly accomplished.
Written by Kinda Grizzly
This album is a classic! 🔥