Elkhart – The Moon

Elkhart is my kind of rock band. The group hits a little bit of that Wilco alt-country aesthetic without feeling like a ripoff. They write songs that are remorseful and tragic without being overly nostalgic and trite. They have some age to them, a bit of dust on their guitars and dullness to their drums. They come off as thoughtful, introspective, and authentic.

And the music is pretty good, too. The Moon is covered with breathy, deliberate vocals, kind of like a subdued Silversun Pickups, copping the same kind of dreamy, wistful feel, but softer, older, heavier. I really like how Elkhart takes its time with this record. The members don’t rush the pace, choosing to keep a steady tempo. It has an old, well-traveled feel, and strange as it might sound, that’s exciting in a genre that demands everything to be loud and cutting edge. It’s the same delivery the Wrens use, and I think we all know how fantastic that band is. Like the Wrens, Elkhart evokes such powerful emotions with so little, making the whole record seem effortless. Lines like “in the heart of my hometown / trash piles up in a place where it can’t drown” on “Houston” and “crickets buzz like radio static” on “Tune Out” perfectly portray the loneliness of the country, and make me want to drive somewhere far, even though I know there’s nothing out there for me.

My only problem with The Moon is that it’s missing the big, swelling moment— the part of the album where they are unusually loud and powerful, or have a slightly dissonant bridge, or unexpected key change. They sort of tease it on the stellar track “Hometown”, but it doesn’t come to fruition.

Maybe that’s for the best. This isn’t a record about getting what you want. It’s about wishing you could go back and do it over, so maybe, just maybe, this time around you have a shot.