Israel Nash

Cosmos-wrangling Americana upstart Israel Nash returns from Texas Hill Country

with his Silver Season, a deeply gorgeous and wholly immersive nine-song set that

plays less like an album, and more like a cross section of time and space. The man's

fourth LP ventures farther down the acid-soaked trail blazed by 2013's Rain Plans,

arriving in lush and expansive territory. Here, this Missouri son sounds more

assured than ever, supported by his highly capable band and production inspired by

psychedelic greats. Israel Nash's Silver Season is best played loudly, and sounds

wonderful in headphones.

Like the record before it, this one was made on Nash's 15-acre swath of land in

Dripping Springs, Texas, with one key difference. While Rain Plans was recorded

inside of the new home he shared with his then-pregnant wife, Silver Season was

born in the studio Nash built outside and named Plum Creek Sound, a 1,400 square-

foot Quonset erected in March. The band was ready to begin in late May when the

floods came, filling the building with water and muck. Nash and the boys pushed on

anyhow. Digging trenches, hauling sandbags, clearing mud, and plugging in—that's

how they made an album, doing what needed to be done.

The end result isn't so terrestrial, however. Silver Season billows outward with its

opening song, "Willow." A swirl of keys, bass, pedal steel, acoustic strum, and

languid drums envelop the listener as Nash's cooed poetry recontextualizes the

world through his daughter's eyes. A shimmery Morricone-like passage carries us

into "Parlour Song," which sounds a little like Neil Young leading Tame Impala.

"Sooner or later we'll surrender our guns/But not until we've shot everyone," Nash

sings. And while the line would fit into a celebratory tale about Old West outlaws,

it's actually a modern lament.

From the warm drift and easy elasticity of "Strangers" (one of two cuts that verge on

seven minutes) to the holler-along gospel of "The Rag & Bone Man," Silver Season

feels like a living thing. That's a product of the wild five-man sessions that took place

in the sweltering Quonset (with beer breaks, and slingshot target practice using the

empties). It's also due to the care put into taming all of that good noise, with

engineer Ted Young (Kurt Vile, Sonic Youth) returning to the mix. The analog hum

grounds the guitar wizardry, while the depth of sound ties the band to the pasture

that surrounds.

It makes sense that Nash would come into his own out there. He was raised in the

Ozarks amidst hills and farmland. Other things add up too. His pastor father and

artist mother were very much children of the '60s. Dad bought him Sgt. Pepper's

when he was 10, Mom handed him an electric guitar at 11, and Nash was writing

songs by 12. And while he's grown away from the religion he was raised under,

Nash's music is nothing if not spiritual. The spirit just comes from a different

place—nature, family, song, and the occasional trip into times and spaces we can't

normally access. Hidden within the folds of Silver Season, Nash's weather-beaten

voice says it best:

"I don't live like the others/I see twice as many colors."