Let me tell you about my friend Joe.
Joe and I met at our small Christian college over a decade ago (Facebook actually reminds me that today is our ten-year friendiversary. Since then, he has made a reputation for himself as an impeccable stop-motion animator, making music videos for bands like Caveman, Wilco, Sufjan Stevens, and the Roots.
On top of working with such esteemed artists, he’s an incredible musician himself.
For the last few years, Joe has led The Flying DeSelms, a costume-clad mania that has been the South Bend music scene’s best kept secret for the last few years. Disguising himself with a paper bag and welding goggles, Joe leads the Flying DeSelms through chaotic, awe-inspiring tears of musical fanaticism that is equal parts entertaining and perplexing.
But under all of the paper bags and giant papier-mâché heads, Joe is one of the most profound and effortless songwriters I’ve ever heard (and not just in the local scene). And that songwriting is the primary focus of Vacant Spaces. Melding humor, old spirituals, and frantic folkery, Joe discusses religion, relationships, and general ennui with an eloquence that divides joint from marrow.
“Pillar of Salt” finds him asking, “what is faith in the darkest of the night?” questioning the struggles of religion before a shouted refrain of “no turning back,” that’s somehow cut with both cynicism and sincerity. On “Haven,” he offers a simple polemic: “They this isn’t reality, but whether or not it’s make believe, this is where I want to be.”
While the Flying DeSelms play with a sonic maximalism that often calls to mind Anathallo’s “marching band gone wild,” Vacant Spaces is relatively stripped. The liner notes credit just a drummer, bassist, and mandolin player and singer. But this is hardly a tame listen. The small ensemble crashes as Joe’s deceptive voice roars with ironic earnestness, aided by the occasional horn section.
Even with this limited sonic palette, Joe and his denizens prove just as capable of shifting mood as his frantic full band. The track “Vacant Spaces” opens with an almost apocalyptic dread that gives way to a childish chorus. “Haven” is delicate and sparse until a manic call-and-response section. “Over and Over” is almost twee in its preciousness, while “Setting Out” has a poetic seriousness to the arpeggiating piano figure that drives the song.
And I do not say this just because he’s a friend—I’m tired of Joe being South Bend’s best kept secret. His is the kind of boundless, far-reaching talent that has catapulted acts like the Mountain Goats, The Decemberists, and even Sufjan Stevens to huge fan bases. And I can only hope that Joe’s day is coming soon.