A Sober Conversation is the work of a master songwriter, one who knows how to achieve their goals. As the album’s nine tracks pour from the speakers, comparisons come to mind: 20/20 and Smiley Smile-era Beach Boys, Lindsey Buckingham, the early solo years of Todd Rundgren.
But nothing sounds quite like any of these – spikiness is never far. The initially dreamy opening track “The Tent” is punctuated by squalls of noise. Next, on the sumptuous “Two Legged Dog,” dense, overstated keyboards contrast with the jaunty melody. Part of the point seems to be undermining anything which might lean into tranquillity. A song beds in and, then, bam: it’s knocked off balance.
Considering that every album so far by the US-raised, Manchester-dwelling Brian Christinzio – who records as BC Camplight – has been coloured by the traumas and upsets of his life, this isn’t a surprise. What is a surprise, though, is that A Sober Conversation is his most unified sounding album so far. Previous albums could be disjointed and, consequently, a hard listen. In contrast, this is Christinzio’s most meticulously melodic, outwardly most immediate album to date.
While there are songs with lyrics dealing with recently becoming sober and the clarity this brings, the core theme draws from what happened to Christinzio in, as “The Tent” makes explicit, September 1993. He was at summer camp then, and abused by a counsellor. Songs look at what happened, the immediate effect, the long aftermath and how he has dealt with this. In the lyrics, there are figurative conversations with the abuser and discussions of what followed. There is detail.
On one hand, A Sober Conversation is a fantastic musical statement. On the other – no matter the lyrical levity and the light-heartedness of Christinzio’s delivery – A Sober Conversation is deeply disturbing. That both these poles are flawlessly amalgamated is extraordinary. A Sober Conversation is an exorcism. One which is sugar-coated.
