A sticker on the cover of American Dust is says it’s “an ode to the beauty of the American Southwest,” specifically the High Desert area within the wider setting of California's Mojave Desert. North-East of Los Angeles, this region contrasts with the city’s urban and suburban sprawl by incorporating scattered settlements.
Eve Adams lived in Los Angeles. Now resident in the High Desert, this landscape is primary to her fourth album. In contrast with its title and inspiration, American Dust is not a desiccated rumination on the impact of remoteness with sparse arrangements and instrumentation. This is clear from the off. Opening track “Nowhere Now” is warm, country-tinged and has the ebb and flow of a lullaby despite lyrics cautioning “stay away from me, I’m nowhere now.” Strings weave in and out, there are intimations of Townes Van Zandt and the Spiritualized of “Broken Heart.” The album ends with the David Ackles-ish “Death Valley Forever,” where a card reading revealing a potential destiny is contrasted with the nature of the desert’s most forbidding feature.
Despite its rounded sound, it doesn’t feel like a particularly sunny album. The klezmer-like “Ask me” – with its slight melodic echo of The Beatles’ “Michelle” – would fit well in a dark Brecht and Weill-style stage show; the upbeat “Amen!” with its bluegrass touches, tails off as if one player has left the stage at time. A forlorn ending. The tremendously assured American Dust knows exactly what it is setting out to do. It achieves this.
Overall, what emerges is an outsider’s view of where Adams has ended up. American Dust is akin to a movie in sound, one along the lines of Wim Wenders’ Paris, Texas or Terrence Malick’s The Tree of Life. Perhaps, then, with her filmic perspective, Adams hasn’t moved so far from Los Angeles, the home of Hollywood.
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