Review Summary: 'Survivors' wears its smile lines like a crown, beautifully supplementing the first chapter of Baker's inevitably storied solo career.
Tim Baker carved himself a niche of earnest east-coast-isms for over a decade with Hey Rosetta!, and from one album to the next, his point of view adjusted in tandem with his own coming-of-age story. 2008's
Into Your Lungs told the tale of entering the world--excited, guarded, and imbued with youthful rage ("when did they rein me, [and] interrogate my better sense with their fucking rent?"). In 2011,
Seeds' narrative was informed by more life experience ("forget where you've been / it'll never be that good again"), but by this time, Baker's late-20s cup began to appear more half-full than not ("I'm happy that you've come along"). By Hey Rosetta!'s final record,
Second Sight in 2014, the white-knuckled sincerity had nearly completely given way to a gentle, smiling acceptance of adulthood: "bless this broken bowl / make it better than it was before". The rest is history: Hey Rosetta! says their "final goodbye", and Baker starts his solo career with his craft uniquely weathered by a lifetime of adventures, hardships, and long tour-van rides across the Trans-Canada Highway. In 2020, Baker's songs are decorated with calloused hands and smile lines.
Survivors, a 20-minute collection of charming songs, is very much a companion-piece and echo of Baker's solo debut
Forever Overhead last year, and the five pieces thematically exist in a similar place.
Forever Overhead and
Survivors come from a different Tim Baker than the emotionally super-charged Newfoundland musician that broke on to the scene 12 years ago: songs that used to decry institutions are now songs that turn inward and celebrate the human spirit. Baker now lives in the concrete jungle of Toronto, and he abstracts city-living from his understanding of simply being a person: "you are a human being", Baker sings in the title track, "go outside and move how your body was made". On 'Sylvan Valley', he asks to "ply you with [his] talk of hope". Even the Randy Newman cover in the middle of the tracklisting ('Texas Girl at the Funeral of Her Father') seems hand-picked to complement Tim Baker's growing philosophy of commiseration, celebration, and connection.
Musically, the relaxed throwback vibes of
Forever Overhead inform
Survivors in near-identical fashion: the easy-listening 70s production and vinyl bin aesthetic make the two albums part and parcel of one another. With Baker's warm, saturated vocal front and centre, songs blossom from simple blue-collar chording to spiraling, expressive flutters of saxophone, congas, and shakers. Negative space opens up 'On the Porch' to highlight its soothing vocal pads and gentle, dampened piano. Plunky, rhythmic bass playfully underscores dramatic, countermelodic string sections as 'Sylvan Valley' reaches an earned, understated crescendo. The down-to-earth nature of the aforementioned title track (which later features as an equally whimsical reprise) isn't embarrassed by its cheeky groove, and it doesn't treat its chin-lifting message of endurance with irony: that earnest thread that runs through all of Baker's music since day one remains to this day. Baker doesn't get to craft these songs without every album he's penned prior.
Survivors is a soundtrack to one of the most magical experiences music has to offer: the opportunity to watch an artist develop and change in real time. In 2020, Baker still has his trademark brand of sincerity: it's just that his mountain peaks have smoothed out into a series of rolling hills. The scenery is as beautiful as ever.
