Morby jumped out of the shadow of his former projects (Woods, The Babies) pretty distinctly with his first solo full length and he only lengthens his own shadow with his latest, Still Life. As with the first, the album takes on the shoes of wandering troubadour (albeit one with a piece of NY always in his pocket) and the songs have a kind of rambling afternoon feel about them. There's a spacey feel to the edges of Still Life, rooted in pop's strum but nonetheless hooked into the wistful watching of the sun sinking over the bay. Those twinkles on the water, the breeze off the bay, they all have their place on Still Life, but more importantly so do the passers by. It winds up as a postcard flipbook of characters that all seem to make Morby a hard man to pin down. Is it he who pines or is he merely echoing the wrinkles in a passer's brow? As with most albums worth their weight, the elusiveness remains its best quality. Whether its his pain or not, his ennui or yours, Morby captures it wonderfully.
Support the artist. Buy it: HERE