Friendship - 'Skip To The Good Part'
It's Friendship's combination of the mumblingly quotidian and the brilliantly profound that makes 'Skip To The Good Part' seem so effortlessly personal on first listen. Dan Wriggins' superbly knotting lyrics are clearly at the forefront in what is likely a dimly-lit, swirling, grainy pub fast preceding closing time,
It's a hell of a distance,
From your hand to your beer.
If anything changes, I'm right here.
At once its brilliantly intimate, with a yearningly strummed guitar, there's a real sense of a failure in communication, of people not saying what they really mean, when they really need to. As Wriggins' cosies up to the listener like an old friend, he doesn't really want us to muscle in - but after another swig of beer its apparent he never really wanted us to leave either, "I hope you hang around, you’re always welcome here". Reaching its natural, desperate, conclusion, Wriggins' vulnerable voice finally breaks, as he simply can't afford the evening end,
Please don’t call it a night,
The river is coursing, it's your life.
These tensions are Friendships' self-professed, primary focus on upcoming album Shock out of Season, channelled by the band’s "twisted articulation of Americana, waves of ambient pedal steel, droning synthesizers and drum machines...". Somewhere between Ryley Walker and David Bazan it feels unnaturally like fertile ground, in its almost mumblecore-esque nature. Gloomy and sweet, Wriggins' stumbles in and out of the poetic, and as winter looms, its comforting almost - if the cracks weren't perhaps so painfully apparent.