Feel the heat

Words fall short; Moreland’s latest must be heard

I jumped at the chance to review master John Moreland’s forthcoming album, High on Tulsa Heat. If nothing else, I just wanted to hear the record before its April 21 release.

And now here I am. This article was due a week ago. Tears are streaming down my face. And I can’t write an album review. 

I could crank out several hundred words about Moreland—his punk rock roots, 2013’s phenomenal In the Throes, his recently heightened profile after some choice TV exposure. I could call it another stroke of brilliance from someone whose brilliance—for anyone paying attention—by now goes without saying. But something keeps stopping me, and the longer I wonder, the more I realize I already know: None of it does him justice. 

I’ve listened to High on Tulsa Heat over and over for the past week. I’ve taken notes; I’ve scribbled thoughts about his lyrics, his guitar style, his voice, his inflection, the arrangements, the supporting musicians, the production, the songwriting. I’ve tried to express why it moves me, but every description is too small. 

Moreland is that special breed of artist whose work inspires a visceral reaction that somehow defies articulation. When you hear it, you feel it. 

Moreland, for me, operates on a different plane than most folk storytellers. He conjures vivid images, but instead of taking me to other times and places, they lead me inward—to places in my own mind, to times in my own life. With one nakedly honest line or one vulnerable crack of his gravelly baritone, Moreland can put me on the floor. High on Tulsa Heat is brimming with those moments.

Though he’s a lyrical giant, Moreland’s greatest songwriting strength might well be his restraint. He bares his soul, to be sure, but he doesn’t spell it all out. He lets the listener latch on. In the breathtaking “Cherokee”—which has brought me to tears more than once this past week—he sings of loss and remembrance, the inevitability of grief and the impossibility of truly moving on. 

For a week, I’ve wondered about the subjects of his songs. A lost love? A relative? A friend? I’ve finally decided I don’t ever want to know. 

And don’t I hear you speaking
In the noises in this house 

And later …

I’m aware of where to find you
It hurts too bad to go

I don’t want to know who he’s singing about, because he’s singing about my dad. He’s singing about my childhood. He’s singing about crushing loss and a lifetime spent mourning moments that never had a chance to exist. He’s singing about me. 

If this were a legal proceeding and I was asked to be critical and objective, I’d have to recuse myself. Still, I implore you to do yourself a favor and pick this thing up on April 21. Give it time to sink its teeth in. You’ll be rewarded with art’s most satisfying gift: You’ll feel something. 

And after awhile, you’ll realize John Moreland is singing about you, too.

High on Tulsa Heat CD Release Show // April 18 // Woody Guthrie Center // Tickets $20 in advance // More info at woodyguthriecenter.org

VIDEO: John Moreland performs "Your Spell" Feb. 8, 2015 for the Folk Alliance fundraiser at the Woody Guthrie Center. 

For more on Tulsa music from Matt, read his profiles of hip-hop standout Verse and honky-tonk hero Jacob Tovar. Or, check out his review of Jesse Aycock's Flowers and Wounds.