If you’d like to reduce the whole beauty and hideousness of human history to just one phrase, I’d recommend saying that it’s merely one long story of people trying very hard to avoid discomfort and failing. Why, otherwise, are people so obsessed with comfort? Why would people be so determined to do anything in order to earn wealth and power?
I’ve had the pleasure of witnessing Woxlin’s growth as a songwriter from afar. Last year, I reviewed “One-Way Ticket from Earth,” an album of “classic heartbreak and Americana. Of the album, I then said: “It is a wholly human affair. It makes you remember that you’ve laughed, and cried, and that, given the opportunity, you’ll want to go out and do more of that while there’s time.”
Jon-Olov Woxlin is a rare example of a human being who does not avoid discomfort and an even rarer example of an artist who does not avoid hard work. “The Mountains is My Home” is more proof of those things. But don’t let me be misunderstood. Woxlin isn’t punishing himself if he fails to deliver a dozen songs by sundown. Nah, what he does instead is accept the uncomfortable nature of being a human and not forget to put all of these thoughts and experiences into songs.
This is the singer-songwriter’s 11th studio album. If you’re searching for a worthy equivalent, this would find Woxlin at the same point in his career at which Bob Dylan released “New Morning.” And if Dylan was largely comfortable in his own skin by the time of that release, Woxlin is not exactly ready to give up the benefits of discomfort just yet.
Just listen to “The Ballad of J.S,” a story song that tells, within the space of four minutes, the whole story of would-be prophets, organised religion and promises so big that one can’t help but wonder just what it takes to keep people hoping and moving forward.
On the 50s American pop-inspired “I Can’t Go On Loving You,” Woxlin delivers a Roy Orbison-like ballad of future heartbreak, a song that precedes a breakup and follows the loss of lustre and hope.
And if you’re hoping that the singer-songwriter will stop to provide a brotherly embrace or wink at you through the speaker and tell you that he doesn’t really mean it, think again. The excellent “Ain’t No Saint,” a song about unbreakable ties to bad acquaintances, brings to mind Townes Van Zandt’s most honest songwriting. The trad folk number “Resurrection of Hebe” brings up old regrets and fresh hopes. And “Bronson Town” feels tense and ready to boil over, just like so many hate-filled small towns across this great, big world.
But where does it all leave us? The title track, “The Mountains of My Home,” a song about the illusory nature of ambition and success, with its blues acoustic guitar fingerpicking, is a real highlight. By this point, and after all of these realisations, most people would be out of the cold, with a cup of tea next to the fire. Not Jon-Olov Woxlin. He’s still out there, taking notes, seeing the world for what it is, and singing it back to it.
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