Someone much wiser than me once said there are no second acts in American lives. Well, in American music, there is, at least if the career of Rob Giles is anything to go on. Having all but given up on music, he was encouraged back by a friend, and the result is Meditation Drive-Thru a beautiful blend of structured song and hallowed harmonies, anthemic bursts and infectious interludes.
And as comebacks go it is brilliant, but then this is a Grammy award-winning artist whose songs are taught in songwriting classes at his alma mater, Berklee College of Music in Boston and who has worked with such music legends of Joe Cocker, Sara Ramirez, Harry Shearer, Christopher Guest, Neil Finn, and Andy Summers, so the experience and expertise was never far from the surface when he started writing and composing again.
There is something in the haze and fragility of much of the music that reminds me slightly of Damien Rice, less Celtic and folky perhaps, more infused with an understated rock sound, but as reference points go, it gives you a good idea of some of the liminal zones he makes music in, a realm between genres and often, seemingly between worlds.
Several gorgeous and understated singles have already paved the way for the album. The fragile and floating “Tears Into Art” which opens the album, the sound of Rob setting out his sparing sonic story perfectly, “Show Me the Way to the Ocean” is hazy and heartfelt and shimmering, chiming and charming, “Some Stars” make up three of the first four songs. But any thoughts of a front-loaded album are dispelled as soon as you hear the more confident and solid alt-pop of “Make Me Crawl,” a song that tells you precisely the why Neil Finn has him on speed dial or “Effectra’s” lulling yet compelling forward drive or “Drinking Poison’s” blend of unabashed rock explosions and sonic sedations.
Meditation Drive-Thru is a great album, one that has been foreshadowed by some deft and delicate singles but which, when experienced in full, runs from the minimalism of the most understated musical lows to the soaring anthemics of the sonic highlands.
It’s good to have you back, sir.
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