Suggesting a poetic preoccupation with mortality, ashes to ashes and all that, the evocatively titled The Hour of Dust has more bucolic origins. Still under the beguiling influence of a lovely painting from India he encountered in a gallery, Grant-Lee Phillips was fascinated by how it conveyed a sense of day’s end, rather than end of life – the full phrase being “the hour of cow dust,” a little kick up signaling it’s time to go for home for the night.
Rather than turning out the lights and sitting in the dark with his thoughts, Phillips opts for softly glowing, nuanced folk-pop optimism – tempered by honest realism – on this, his 12th solo album, The Hour of Dust hopeful for an enlightened awakening in these maddening, dark times and turning inward for solace and courage. A true craftsman, his savvy, heartfelt songwriting more focused and inviting than ever, Phillips bakes sure, sweeping hooks into his soul-nourishing, bittersweet balladry, “Bullies,” a yearning “Someone” and an especially affecting “Closer Tonight” sashaying across a weathered, wooden floor, broom in hand, Phillips a lonesome store clerk dancing with himself. He’s ready to lock up.
Taking on “little men who want to rule like Caesar,” Phillips’ “Little Men” is a strummed, string-laden stunner begging for emancipation from petty, insecure tyrants, lost in grey beauty. Everywhere on The Hour of Dust, Phillips – his voice brushed across canvasses as wide as prairies – officiates small weddings of lightly combed and curled acoustic guitar, easy drumming and tumbling piano, the elements swaying together in a simply sweet “She Knows Me,” a wise and charming love song about the ties that bind and unintentionally being a favorite open book to someone who reads and retains everything.
Ensconced in a lush, flowing Americana, far removed from his alternative-rock past with the more electrified Grant Lee Buffalo, Phillips offers up the sunny morning greeting “Did You Make It Through the Night Okay,” inspired by his native American ancestry and grateful to be alive. Wary of trouble ahead, Phillips chooses a path of joy, although he somehow manages to sneak in a touch of melancholy, whereas “No Mistaking” rolls slowly downhill, its irresistible pull embracing aging gracefully as a couple that “never runs out of words” and has “shelves full of history.” Phillips does, too, and this is another sublime chapter.
