What does it mean to call someone an old soul? I'm asking honestly. People used to refer to me in this way on a regular basis when I was young and now that I'm old, people are constantly remarking on how youthful I appear. I'll take the latter compliment, but it's a superficial observation, and it makes its predecessor all the more frustrating in comparison (and not only because it's not nearly as flattering). I have the impression that the phrase is something you say to someone when you don't know what else to say to them. Not unironically, noting that feelings towards others sometimes overrun our capacity to articulate them is as good of an entry point as I could ask for when it comes to a discussion of the Massachusetts alternative and indie rock band, Oldsoul. A collective with vocalist Jess Hall and guitarist Tom Stevens at its center, the group is adept at giving those awkward, ambiguous, and often irreconcilable feelings that plague the soul a sonic body and a palpable quality. Their most recent record, Education on Earth, begins with the waxy, burnt-at-both-end drip and fume of "Anyways," where meals for two become folding metaphors for expectations that sorrow and offend one's delicate sense of assurance in themselves. This is followed by the off-kilter swivel and inverted slide of "Leave Them Standing," a perfect delineation of doxophobia that entwines a declaration of integrity with a discernable dodge into diffidence. It's very satisfying to dwell on the poetics and mental ministrations offered by the album, especially when it comes to the knock-out, drag-down lovelorn languishment of "Lavender Cane" and new-wavy-wind up and easy confession of cascading companionship "High on Yourself." However, the band can really wail when they want to, and it's those moments when they allow themselves to let loose, Jess with the searing sincerity and vigor of her vocals, and Tom's inspired streaks of grunge and rust-belt powerpop interpolations, that really sell the hell out of the record, particularly when it comes to the band's more unorthodox structural and aesthetic choices, such as the gold-tinted reverb that plates the luxuriously claustrophobic "No Reassurance," or the sparky, flint-strike grooves that ignite the anthemic turns of "Nerves." Chewing on these riffs is a pure joy in most cases, and you very rarely hear the same part repeated more than once on the album, making each encounter that much more fleeting and precious. Earth, full of humans, with complex and strained emotions, is a challenging environment to learn your way around. Thankfully we have artists like Oldsoul who are able and willing to bear the light of their spirits to try and illuminate a walkable path for others.
