HYMNS FOR HUNGRY SPIRITS, VOL. I

Hymns for Hungry Spirits, Vol. I is the second album from Atlanta-based Great Wide Nothing, released in late 2020 as the first of a two album cycle (the follow-up, Hymns for Hungry Spirits, Vol. II, dropped in January 2023). The self-described "progressive indie punk trio" presented both releases as thematic concept albums, a deep-dive into issues such as loss, heartbreak, devastation, isolation, and eventual peace and acceptance.

And why not? The world we shared from 2020-2022 delivered emotional content like the aforementioned directly to center stage. The band, consisting of lyricist Daniel Graham (bass, guitar, vocals), Dylan Porper (keyboards, supporting vocals), and Jeff Matthews (drums, percussion), avoided any easy or direct allegories to individual events or moments in time, instead focusing on general themes of longing, coping with loss, and flirting with despair.

As well as overcoming the darkness, lest you think this album is some kind of general bummer. Thankfully we can eschew any portents of general bummerania, as Hymns for Hungry Spirits, Vol. I is a thoughtful examination of the human condition through a set of songs bristling with layered musicality and an evocative poetic command.

Graham's lyrics are especially heartfelt and effective (sometimes devastatingly so) at conveying emotional verisimilitude. The trio are talented musicians, and the thick production weaves textures that are ripe with progressive staples: symphonic walls of keyboards, punchy bass lines, driving percussive drums, atmospheric guitars, and so on.

And that sum totality works mostly to the album's benefit, but occasionally to its detriment as well.

The opening trio of songs establishes the overall tone: "To Find The Light, Part One" opens with a swirling cosmic void, building into a powerful symphonic prog movement that erupts into keyboards and drums in full attack. Graham's vocals eviscerate those who promise salvation and delivery and provide nothing. The song immerses us in medieval and mythological imagery, pointing a finger at the silver-tongued who capitalize on human frailty to "seize predatory vacancies in the marrow of your bones". It's a strong musical statement of driving immediacy, setting the thematic character for the record.

And as that tone ensnares and succeeds almost immediately, it continues unabated in both of the next songs. I bristle at any utilization of the line "I'm not a ______ but I play one on TV". It's almost too reminiscent of every hacky watercooler-comedian at the office; a line rooted in cliché from a 1989 headache commercial. "Superhero" gets a pass, albeit a hesitant one, for opening with that line. It is a caustic condemnation of how emotional con-artists exploit mass-media for their own benefit, all the while claiming to be the selfless source of our salvation. "Superhero" is a punchy tune, conceptually and musically solid, continuing the feel of the album opener and delivering it directly into the next one.

"Promised Land" opens with shimmering piano lines that erupt into a tasty bass and keyboard attack, coalescing into a catchy central riff. The song is urgent, almost overwhelming in its immediacy, underscored by the "red-alert"-esque keyboards running under the chorus. The song itself is something of an alt-perspective to "Superhero". The aforementioned protagonist knows he's a fraud; here he is someone desperately trying to deliver loved ones out of their broken world of madness and degradation, into that promised land of salvation where everything works, where life finally makes sense. Here he honestly buys every last bit of his own genuine sincerity.

It's a fascinating dip into duality, but the pace of the song, its uptempo warning and driving immediacy, feels a bit overwhelming here. Especially after the opening salvo of "To Find The Light" and "Superhero". "Promised Land" is an engaging but frenzied piece, one that perhaps needed a little more space to breathe. It raises a concern that the album feels overly homogeneous.

Thankfully this is not the case as we move right into "Hymn For A Hungry Spirit", a standout track that slows the pace down with an acoustic guitar intro amid lush synth orchestrations. Graham's vocals shine here in this tale of emotional reduction. Water is our basest form, where absolute apathy, indifference, insignificance, and self-loathing dwell at its lowest depths. The percussion fills between verses is highly evocative, an almost primitive rhythm that reinforces the primal qualities of human despair. And all the while reminding us that the search for self-discovery is the most central of life's endlessly branching journeys.

"Here I am, goddamn" indeed.

The softer pace continues with "Stars Apart", the longest and yet surprisingly the most conventional-sounding track on the album (at least at first). There's a familiarity to this song that you can't place; it feels like a late 80s alternative single that you think you should know. Which of course is impossible, but I think that works to the song's benefit. An ode to self-delusion in a relationship and the inevitable heartbreak that ensues, "Stars Apart" has some of Graham's most pinpoint lyrics, exemplifying the sensation of knowingly walking into a situation you know will never work:

We sold our insecurities And took a chance to dance on borrowed time Embracing the absurdity Convinced that we'd pull off the perfect crime

This is a winning tune that zigs about halfway through. A commanding guitar strum leads into an aggressive, almost oppressive keyboard solo from Porper. His skillfully adept synth eruption seems almost at odds with the wistful, melodic musical content of the more traditional verse-chorus structure from before. And yet it's not entirely incongruous either, bolding and underlining the song's melancholic subtext. The "misplaced miracle" in its most distilled form.

"Vigil" is another piano-driven ballad, one which would have been better served had it not been sequenced directly after "Stars Apart". Whereas the latter tune highlighted exaggeration, delusion, and loss ? buying into false idealizations as we forever lose what we thought we desired ? "Vigil" delivers us to the castle gate, hoping to get inside the walls to reach a self-isolated loved one, lost in their own pain and nightmare. We see the tower in which they've locked themselves, and that's all we see ever of them. "Vigil" is the album's shortest track and somewhat of a lesser one; after the epic number that came before, it feels a bit like an afterthought.

The album ends with "The Best We Can Do Is Laugh", a hopeful bit of pragmatism about finding comfort and shelter within chaos and uncertainty. The band perhaps feels more aligned here on this eight and a half minute track; amid the shimmering piano riffs, the commanding walking bassline, the precision and drive of Matthews's drumwork, and all the callbacks to 70s organs and 80s synths, this is a compelling musical presentation. The lyrics, however, falter in the chorus, perhaps too straightforward and obvious, but they are a minor stumble in what is otherwise an impressive album closer.

Great Wide Nothing's Hymns for Hungry Spirits, Vol. I preaches a prog-rock gospel of empathy and nuance, framing multiple perspectives of human longing in a wall of alluring melodic intricacies. The album does at times slip into pockets of homogeneity that, while far from monotonous, threaten to derail its momentum. And while the album would have been further served by a wider stylistic delivery, Hymns for Hungry Spirits, Vol. I succeeds as an engaging listen via its strong lyrics and impressive musicianship.