M. Ward has been championed by Howe Gelb, who released Ward's 2000 debut disc Duet for Guitars #2 on his Ow Om label, and Conor Oberst, who brought Ward on the road with Bright Eyes. In 2001, Ward earned some small measure of acclaim for his sophomore effort, End of Amnesia, and if the Portland, Oregon-based songwriter keeps making records as inventive and thoroughly rewarding as this third album, he won't be unknown long. Full of snappy, loping pop tunes interwoven with mellow instrumental passages, Transfiguration of Vincent shows Ward to be a terrific folk and blues guitarist, a perceptive, witty storyteller, and--in tossing piano, percussion, harmonica, and various other instruments into mixes that never feel the least bit cluttered--an imaginative arranger. He's also an expressive vocalist, whether in a winsome upper register that recalls Ben Harper or his sandy-throated midrange. There's not a weak moment on this dark-horse gem of a disc. --Anders Smith Lindall
M. Ward
Transfiguration of Vincent
[Merge; 2003]
Rating: 8.3
Some time in 2035, I'm going to pull this album out, and it's going to sound just as good as it does now. There's something running through it that broadcasts timelessness and defies genre constraints-- quite a feat, considering how M. Ward's previous outings had pegged him as a modern-day alt-country troubadour, tied to tradition despite promise that suggested he might one day transcend its confines. For Transfiguration of Vincent, M. Ward has invited collaborators who bring full flesh to his music, landing at the nexus of melody-drenched pop, Delta blues, Wall of Sound glow, ragtime, Appalachian folk, and about a half-dozen other styles. With this album, Ward moves onto the same block as Sparklehorse, Pinetop Seven, Calexico, Lambchop, and a host of other artists who draw from backwoods phantasmagoria and disparate genres.
Over the past year or so, I've been really drawn into the world that musicians like Ward inhabit. There's a sort of spiritual gravity to music that exists in the cracks between genres and passing movements, and because it can mix-and-match the entire history of music, it's an aesthetic that's unlikely to run short of ideas any time soon. This album manages to cross a great deal of terrain without actually feeling eclectic-- there are too many elements working in concert with each other for true stylistic shifts to occur-- even while containing variety in spades.
It doesn't hurt matters that Ward's singing and writing has developed into something truly special and unique. On the swinging flamenco blues number "Sad, Sad Song", Ward's voice is an impossible blend of gravel and silk as he croons, "I went to my momma/ I said momma, please/ What do you do when your true love leaves?/ She said the hardest thing in the world to do/ Is to find somebody who believes in you." They may be an acquired taste for some, but Ward's pipes are a perfect fit for his songs, moving through the decades with the same ease as his music, and taking on music hall boisterousness and bluesy weariness by turns, always full of soul.
On the instrumental "Duet for Guitars #3", Ward takes things to the back porch for a brilliant, kinetic moment of levity, but otherwise, Transfiguration of Vincent is laden with heavy emotions and musings on death, loss and violence. "Helicopter" whirs with energy, bounding on a steady rhythm, Ward expounding on some sort of fantasy about rescuing innocents from the violence of the world. Through the nostalgic haze of "Outta My Head", amidst fluttering organs and synths, Ward sings, "A playful little kitten/ Met a playful little bird/ And then off with its head/ Off with its head/ Oh my." And his rough falsetto pulls all the emotion from the chorus of "Undertaker", where, over an ornate bed of acoustic guitar, theremin and muffled violin, he moans, "If you're gonna leave/ You better call the undertaker/ Take me under, undertaker/ Take me home."
There are moments on Transfiguration of Vincent for which words fail-- particularly the cover of David Bowie's "Let's Dance", where Ward's low-key, acoustic delivery reveals a surprisingly emotional, fragile piece-- and while that may be an extremely uncomfortable position for a music reviewer, for a listener, it's the best place you could possibly be. I would say "enjoy it while it lasts," but you've got all the time in the world.
-Joe Tangari, March 27th, 2003
Review by Charles Spano
M. Ward's Transfiguration of Vincent is nothing less than spectacular. From the buoyant, late-Beatlesque "Vincent O'Brien" to the dank, shuffling, south of the border groove on "Sad, Sad Song," the troubadour manages to capture a timeless folkiness and match it with a surreal and sparkling sense of nostalgia that clearly echoes Tom Waits. Recorded with the Old Joe Clarks as the backup band, Transfiguration is rooted firmly in old-time Americana, yet M. Ward's take on country and particularly his vocals somehow fit perfectly with Giant Sand, Sparklehorse, and California's surreal, pastoral psych-pop outfit Grandaddy (whose Jason Lytle contributed some field recordings). Just check M. Ward's stunning transformation of Bowie's "Let's Dance," which proves there's some deeply buried pop beneath these honest folk tunes. Transfiguration is a quiet record and might lose some listeners in it's sleepy summer melancholy, but M. Ward is the real deal -- and he's surely worthy of heaps of attention and acclaim.
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