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Noah Kahan harks back to a not-too-distant era of popular culture that feels almost surreal to look back on. His usually flannel-clad, man bun and beard presentation brings only one word to mind when I see it: “hipster”. You know them. They’re the kinds of dudes asking you if you’ve heard of this really niche band called Mumford and Sons. The kinds of people bragging to you that they caught MGMT before they blew up. Looking down their noses at you for daring to enjoy something that everyone else supposedly does. Regularly, you will find these Eldritch beings frequenting local craft breweries, paying $30 for an artisan burger parading as “healthy”, telling you that the most uncomfortable stools in the world are a part of the decor, “you get used to the numb arse”. Caressing their face bushes as they educate you on how ‘Rumours’ by Fleetwood Mac was actually a nightmare to create. Mostly harmless, very yuppy people who have become synonymous with an indie aesthetic that pretty much went out of fashion in the mid-2010’s.
The particular style of music that plagues the hipster brand is most commonly referred to as ‘stomp-clap’, or ‘stomp-clap-hey’. Of Monsters and Men, The Lumineers, the aforementioned Mumford & Sons to a degree, Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros, all of these acts exist within this space of millennial pop that adopted the folk, baroque and singer-songwriter tendencies of artists from the mid-2000’s (think Arcade Fire, Fleet Foxes, The Decemberists). Arguably, they mixed these aesthetics into a considerably watered-down gentrification of those prior artists’ styles. Right now, you may be asking yourself, “did he just use up a considerable bulk of this review to shit on hipster culture?”. Yes, yes I did. It’s relevant though, because I think Noah Kahan’s popularity right now indicates an attitude shift towards leniency for this lane of indie-fied hipster radio pop. His often formulaic lyrical vulnerability, jangly chords and platitudinal sentimentality are clearly influenced by a lot of those acts. I can respect that for people it brings them a lot of comfort, perhaps even a pang of nostalgia. Unfortunately for me, more often than not, Noah’s prior stuff has struggled to really execute something greater than the sum of its parts.
Stick Season was a swing and a miss. It was ultimately a surface-level attempt at the heartstring-tugging beauty and rustic charm of the ‘Fleet Foxes’’ and ‘Tallest Man On Earth’’s of the singer-songwriter space. Too sappy to be taken seriously, too clichéd to leave a mark, it was a record that seemed to enrapture people who already had a hankering for this sort of product. Fast forward though, and ‘The Great Divide’ does seem to be a minor advancement beyond Stick Season’s ersatz choices. Rather than plod its way through a set of hokey folk numbers, Noah takes a decidedly measured approach to his already emotionally strained work. The tone lining the inner walls of these tracks is arguably darker, more forlorn than he’s been previously. There’s an eerie weight to even the breeziest of moments, “Headed North” springs to mind here. While he’s still playing with a slew of similar writing approaches, it reads as if he actually believes that what he’s singing deserves some level of emotional urgency this time around. Lead single “Porch Light” shines even from a distance. Allegedly written from the perspective of his mother, the content of this song is rife with distance and isolation. Kahan’s wretched falsetto rounds out the plucky bluegrass playing, and glimmers as the tiniest bit of hope that things can be mended.
The title track’s full band accompaniment makes it the heaviest rocker on the record, and perhaps Kahan’s punchiest cut yet. An apt choice for the titular honour, it outlines a relationship struggling to keep together. This becomes a clear recurring theme, as we saw with the previous single, and as we can observe on other standouts like “Downfall” and “Haircut”. Songs that reveal a bitterness bubbling beneath all the high ground, songs that portray a level of complexity that I don’t feel Kahan has really dug into thus far. As far as the rest of the project goes, moments tend to range from either solidly constructed folk rock, to contemplative interstitial pieces, to sometimes unjustifiably long ballads. For all of the improved character across a decent majority of ‘The Great Divide’, there is an ironically large gap between this album’s best moments, and where it falters. “Spoiled” could have easily been snipped in half and had roughly the same impact, which was not a lot to begin with. “23”’s lack of either a robust vocal melody, or a compelling instrumental progression kneecaps it pretty violently. “Willing and Able” meanders agonisingly around the point for 5 minutes, teasing a dramatic finale then blueballing at the last minute. I have a whole laundry list I could read from, but I’m going to stop myself. I am pleased that Kahan seems to have been honing his writing skills a bit more attentively, it is evident in just how much more patience I had for the music this time around. Noah Kahan really needs to improve his editing capabilities though, because I’m willing to bet his cutting room floor is looking spotless after this one.
Dan Will Review 