Drunk Lil Guy is the second LP from the Portland-based chamber folk artist Noah Kite. He spent a lot of time in Europe teaching English about 10 years ago and the zugunruhe of his nomadic years still clings to his present artistic output. Drunk Lil Guy moves. It sways. It drifts and it parries on the wind. The songs feel like they skip across miles at a time, barely touching the ground as they flit- coaching the experience of the music as if between the shoulder blades of a great bird, courageously coasting above the white caped crests of mountain peaks as it completes its gratifying migratory calling. Even when speaking to the domains of the intimate and domestic, the album never gives up its mandate to traverse a few steps further towards a distant, deep sojourn.
Each song is a journey of transmutation. A shapeshifting creature emerging through its pubescence before your piqued senses. They have the same essential body as the one in which they embark, but something fundamental has changes by the time they have reached their resolution and final destination. It is possible that each song represents a ripening maturity of years- a conditioning of the soul- super condensed into three-minute parables. Equally probably, the changes they undergo could be the result of them leaving parts of themself behind- caught and left hanging on thorns and outstretched branches that lined their path. Still, it could be that each has acquired some new secret that they have not yet deemed you worthy of receiving. They could all be true, or none could be true.
Notwithstanding these considerations, motion- the physical sensation of movement- especially over long stretches of terrain- real and emotional- is essential to understanding Noah's work. I almost hesitate to call what I am hearing on Drunk Lil Guy songs when they more resemble choreography- practiced interpretations that tell a story through their chords, grooves and euphonic tones- every bit as affecting as the heartfelt and tender poetry that accompanies them.
Travel five hundred miles with this album in your ears and in conversation with your inner monologue. Spend all night drinking and drawing your care to its joyfully lugubrious ditties. Learn to sing its songs with a group of friends and rehearse them every sundown. Such familiarities will never fully shield you from the tranquil bluster of its elegant corporeal persuasion.
