Greg Freeman – Burnover

North America is filled with open landscapes that inspire wanderlust. And while the Pacific Coast carries that reputation due to its striking backdrops, musicians like Greg Freeman bring a lived-in warmth to the Northeastern US that is endlessly mysterious. The Vermont-based musician reflected on the many ways living in New England had shaped his music, both big and small, ultimately delivering a twangy slice of heartland rock worth getting lost in. His subtle refinements feel monumental on his second full-length album, steeped in thoughtful mythmaking, bringing a new dimension to a side of the coast that is just as breathtaking.

But Freeman, inscrutable in his approach, never holds any obvious answers. And the music, steady but also as brittle as a house of cards, plays with an ease that belies its intricacy. What makes Burnover such a compelling listen is that, while sometimes eerily reminiscent of the sun-bleached arrangements of Neil Young, it carries itself more like turn-of-the-century indie rock. While songs like “Salesman” could appeal to a country rock devotee, Freeman produces a punchy, rich tapestry of instruments by prioritizing tunefulness over meandering jams. It's no surprise that he toured recently with Grandaddy, as Jason Lytle's artful leanings seem like a more spiritual pairing than the melancholic folk rock of admitted influence Jason Molina.

There's space for more formality throughout Burnover, as the upbeat piano that lingers on “Curtain,” which brings the image of a lively Western saloon, struts despite his dejected heart: “My thoughts die out slowly/on the wind-swept panes/where I see you every night.” Or take the melancholic soft rocker “Gallic Shrug,” on which he feigns indifference even when some deep-seated feelings could boil over at any moment. But what's more distinct is the simplicity of its pop arrangement, which amalgamates a nimble country melody with a bit of Stephen Malkmus-esque insouciance. Even in his dry drawl, they both share some similarities.

As Burnover turns more impenetrable, especially on the bombastic orchestral rock closer “Wolf Pine,” so does Freeman's thematic focus. While his narratives can leave a lot to chew on, Freeman is at his very best when his ragged, guitar-drenched intensity sounds deceivingly loose. He does try to balance the mood more in the exploratory second half, but he's earned that decision after the first half's tight, generous songwriting. While Freeman does occasionally lean on some lyrical bloat, he never lets his ornate tendencies fully take over.

Burnover is out now via Transgressive / Canvasback.