Idlewild Everything Ever Written

To emphasize one’s creative pursuits as “mature” too much is almost like admitting you’re fully aware of your own mediocrity. Or it can simply mean that you’re indifferent about what criticism may arise from finally shedding your old ways. In the case on Scottish mainstays Idlewild, though, it’s been a long process of trying to make others accept that their earlier, fast-paced spunk was just a phase. What’s remained in their steady evolution is their witty, bookish exploitations, a salient trait that seemed out of place in the ambitious direction they were once headed with the minor success of The Remote Part. One may ascribe their reluctance to stadium rock as a severe bout of self-sabotage, of not knowing how to handle the pressures that come with it, but the desire to truly stand out with a softer flex was always as plain as day. 

Saying that Idlewild had matured became a long-running excuse to justify a general songwriting inefficiency - though Make Another World and Post Electric Blues had a good amount of standouts, they both agreed to a satisfactory compromise of clumsy sensitivity and stable guitar pop. Everything Ever Written provides a much-needed thrust after a considerable hiatus, though don’t confuse it as a drastic departure from their mid-aughts period, either. They bring more soul to the proceedings as opposed to writing songs like craftsmen without distinction, and there’s still a desire to write big choruses with soft-loud dynamics. The long absence was an opportunity to explore other avenues, and now they’re more focused and in tune with their own life path instead of forgoing a profound shift in perception and meaning.

Idlewild have always ushered the rustic simplicity of American roots with genuine fascination, and the years in retreat prove without doubt they’ve been honing this particular approach with heartfelt dedication. The warm elegance of So Many Things To Decide has a Basement Tapes feel to it, in which the band plays it straight while quaint accouterments like fiddles and organs give Roddy Woomble’s weary reflections a sense of permanence. These winding excursions add a communal color to their gentle, twangy leanings - a song like All Things Different doesn’t reveal itself at first glance, in which Woomble’s internalizes like a wise poet ("always running away on my own/ mixing up my longing to stay with the longing to be gone") as saloon-style piano chords dance over a skronky horn section. 

Now there’s still some of that old spark that first fueled Idlewild close to a decade ago - album highlight Come On Ghost should become a new favorite in live shows, a grand, bone-crunching epic with a soaring coda that showcases Rod Jones’ virtuous (and vastly underrated) guitar playing. Every Little Means Trust should also sound familiar to their most fervent fans, a twinkling ballad with radio potential that will, as their fate usually predicts, go unfairly ignored by BBC 1 Radio programmers who are too busy playing Sam Smith for the millionth time. Perhaps the sweeping Nothing I Can Do About It could fare better, an arena-fueled rocker with a surging sing-a-along chorus (with a chord progression slightly reminiscent of When I Argue I See Shapes, I might add) that serves as a blunt reminder on how Frigthened Rabbit borrowed their “uplift, even in the worst of times” routine.

Save for the rather unfortunate, Don Henley-esque soft rock pastiche of Left Like Roses, Idlewild makes sound songwriting choices consonant with already established motifs. Regardless of the longevity of their entire creative output, every step they’ve taken throughout the years has been performed with convincing efficiency, which is why it’s hard to ever write them off. Everything Ever Written even ends with a pleasant curveball, the gorgeous Utopia, an illuminating reverie that poignantly illustrates the measures people take to adapt to their surroundings in spite of the final outcome. This is a new version of Idlewild, but once again, one that comforts and entices with percipient good sense. I’ve got a hunch they haven’t written everything just yet.