Damien Jurado and Joseph Arthur are two of my favourite songwriters, but neither of their new albums — fine as they may be — is the album of the week. This one is. I wasn’t expecting that to happen. But Home has grown and grown on me, sitting in the CD player, refusing to be moved, demanding to be played again and again. This is a magical album. In reality, home for Peter Broderick is Portland, Oregon, but he hasn’t been living there. He was summoned to Denmark by the wondrous Efterklang, and has recently been touring with them. On Home, Broderick reveals not just his musical talent, but an unusual level of restraint. All we have here is voice and guitar. No needless virtuosity; no clever sonic treatments; no unusual instruments. It’s the right decision, because hearing Broderick sing and play guitar is like hearing Mark Kozelek: everything is so powerful, so artfully placed, so right, you can’t imagine where a drumbeat, say, or a bass line could possibly go. Lyrically, the album concerns itself with the search for home, but with the unsettling proviso that “when I’m home, I’m not at home”. Right, so, er, what is it that we’re looking for? I haven’t a clue. I know only that, while we’re looking, we stumble on moments that recall the magnificence of Simon & Garfunkel at their peak (Below It; With the Notes in My Ears), or David Pajo at his most ambient (There and Here; Sickness, Bury), and we don’t care how long the search takes.

Bella Union BELLACD172

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