Yeah, sure, there are some grizzled songwriters who, when asked to recall exactly how many tunes they’ve penned over the years, will shrug their shoulders, laugh, and say “Many, I guess,” before adding: “It pays the bills, you know!” But there aren’t many of this kind; this is not merely due to commercial considerations, and we might all be better off with things as they are.
The vast majority of artists dream that, one day, they’ll be able to reveal all of their secrets in one fell swoop, and hope that enough people will take the time to decipher their parables of the world. All serious artists live in the hope that they will create one piece of art that makes sense of their entire existence.
That is, I gather, what Rico Friebe has been doing with the ambitious 22-song collection “The Desire Path / The Open Glade,” an album that is split into two and that, listened to in just the right way, at the correct time, and with the appropriate intentions, should reveal just what kind of person Friebe really is.
But, just how do you approach such an intimidating body of work when it is clear that this writer hasn’t merely tossed a colossal number of songs out into the world, hoping that only a few will receive love and care?
Maybe it’s best that we first reconsider the format with which we’re working here. The moment you decide to read “War and Peace” or, God forbid, the atrociously dull “The Magic Mountain,” you take off time from work, let your friends know that you will be unreachable for a while, and sharpen a pencil so that you can take notes. Listening to gentle confessions and aching calls that Friede makes on songs like “Baton Rouge” or “Minneola,” it becomes clear that this album, in order to be properly enjoyed, deserves a similar level of focus.
Because, indeed, wandering through it resembles a walk through a very dense forest, where trees and dirt have slowly eaten up the path. The dark, almost goth-tinged, folk of songs like “Suddenly” or “Friend Pt. 2” are connected with moody piano pieces like “Starlet Tanager” or “Eugene” through nearly invisible threads. But, as you strain to really listen and get on Friebe’s wavelength, those connections start to reveal themselves.
What also makes the collection of songs compelling is the way in which the tone gently shifts as the album progresses. The dark of the night gives way to glimpses of light, and presumably we shift from “The Desire Path” to “The Open Glade.” The latter part of the record, with songs like “True Heart” or “Harmony” talks about purpose, whispers of hope, and dares to show us a way out of the thick German forest.
Where does it all leave us? Hopefully, we can treasure our freedom to dig as deep as we want into this all-encompassing autobiography, as well as cherish artists who are willing to put this amount of work and self-discipline into it. You get the sense that “The Desire Path / The Open Glade” says all that there is to be said of Rico Friebe, at this stage, at least. But you’ll just need reserve time if you want to crack this enigma.
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