ALBUM // Al Riggs – ganglian

Post by Misha

When I dive into a new Al Riggs album it’s hard to know what to expect – they’re always experimenting with new ways to express themselves, pushing new sounds. What I always find, no matter what, is a world where I want to stay.

I want to meet the characters who live there. I want to wander their streets and sleep on their park benches. Share their skies and have my trash dug through by their bears.

The world of this album is almost unspeakably gentle and small. There is a house on the edge of town, and a tiny creature hiding in the unkempt grasses underneath the back porch, making the smallest noises. Something about the album is coaxing, like the kindness of leaving food out every night for the strays in the hopes that one will someday come inside. And something about the album is skittish, like the dart and retreat of a wild cat balancing their survival instincts with the allure of a meal and warm house.

The album, of course, is not about any of these things. It’s roughly about autism, and Al’s own experiences with mental health, but still, to me it is permeated with the uneasy desire to search for love and compassion even where you suspect there might be none.

Al releases a lot of music; this is their *third* full length album in a year. There’s something that happens when music is released at that clip. The songs feel close to the surface in a very tangible way. They’re easy to fall into. Complex, but warm and inviting, like a book of handwritten poems. It is a reminder of music’s function as more than capital-a-Art, but as a means of self-expression, and listening as more than a pastime, but as a way of understanding each other.

Buy Ganglian here.