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Album Review: Sam the Living – Alone EP

Sam the Living’s EP “Alone” explores anxiety and vulnerability through introspective lyrics and warm analog sound, creating a deeply personal listening experience in a historic church setting.

Sam the Living, the alias of Dylan Greenhough, presents his latest EP “Alone,” a 15-minute journey into the depths of anxiety and self-reflection. Released on October 1, 2024, this five-track collection serves as a poignant exploration of human vulnerability.

Recorded in a century-old church in Toronto, “Alone” breathes with the weight of history and the lightness of confession. The EP’s analog tape mastering adds a warm, warbly texture that transports listeners to a timeless space, perfectly complementing Greenhough’s introspective lyrics and Nick Drake-inspired arrangements.

The EP opens with “Wired,” a track that immediately establishes the intimate tone of the collection. Greenhough’s whispered vocals float atop delicate guitar work, creating a sense of late-night rumination. The lyrics paint a vivid picture of shared struggles and the difficulty of connection: “What a mess feeling this depressed / I see it in you too, what am I supposed to do about it.” The song’s closing lines, “But you never let me in and I’m tired / Of trying to figure out how both of us are wired,” encapsulate the EP’s themes of isolation and the complexities of human relationships. The church’s natural reverb adds depth to Greenhough’s voice, enhancing the song’s ethereal quality.

“We’re Fighting Again” follows, its title a stark contrast to the gentle melody. Here, Greenhough’s storytelling shines, weaving a tale of relationship tension with remarkable economy of language. The analog warmth is particularly noticeable in the track’s layered harmonies, evoking comparisons to Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young while maintaining a distinctly modern sensibility.

The EP’s centerpiece, “I’m Afraid You’ll Leave Me,” is a masterclass in vulnerability. Greenhough’s lyrics are raw and unflinching, exploring fears of abandonment with startling honesty. The church setting seems to amplify the song’s emotional resonance, each note reverberating with the weight of unspoken anxieties.

“How Much Can You Take” shifts gears slightly, introducing a subtle rhythmic complexity that belies the song’s heavy themes. Greenhough’s vocal performance here is particularly noteworthy, his voice cracking with emotion at just the right moments. The analog mastering lends a vintage feel to the track, as if we’re listening to a long-lost recording from the golden age of folk.

The EP closes with “The Feeling Doesn’t Change,” a fitting epilogue that ties together the collection’s themes of persistent anxiety and the search for connection. The song’s sparse arrangement allows Greenhough’s lyrics to take center stage, each word carrying the weight of hard-won wisdom.

Throughout “Alone,” Sam the Living demonstrates a remarkable ability to convey complex emotions through simple, elegant arrangements. The decision to record in an old church proves inspired, with the space itself becoming an integral part of the EP’s sound. You can almost hear the creaking of pews and the whisper of ancient stones in the quiet moments between notes.

The analog tape mastering adds another layer of depth to the recordings, softening the edges of Greenhough’s confessions and lending a nostalgic warmth to even the most painful admissions. It’s a sonic choice that perfectly complements the timeless nature of the emotions explored in these songs.

“Alone” is more than just a collection of songs; it’s a mood, a feeling, a moment captured in amber. Sam the Living has created a work that feels both intensely personal and universally relatable, inviting listeners to explore their own anxieties and fears through the prism of his experiences.

For fans of introspective folk and indie rock, “Alone” is essential listening. It’s a testament to the power of vulnerability in art and a promising indication of Sam the Living’s potential as a rising force in the Canadian music scene. As the final notes of “The Feeling Doesn’t Change” fade into silence, we’re left with a sense of having shared in something deeply personal and profoundly human.

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