Everyone’s favorite singer-songwriter/barber/fraudulent teen Drew Danburry is back after what feels like a long hiatus (or at least a long hiatus from my inbox). It’s been a couple years since Drew brought us “Mediocrity, for Denis Villeneuve (who is amazing and not mediocre),” and he’s back with another song whose title includes a highly specific dedication. (This one not involving any famous film directors, as far as I can tell.) The similarities between the two songs end there, though. Where “Mediocrity” was a slow, contemplative piano ballad, “1996” is a breezy slice of folk-pop. It starts with four chords on an acoustic guitar, then over 2-plus minutes ever-so-gradually morphs into a marvelous melange of multi-tracking, with more guitars, keys, and layers of vocals. The song just keeps growing, but never in a way that feels excessive or ornamental. Drew’s vocal style throughout most of the song is in his usual amiable, low-key mode, but there’s one intense moment at the halfway point where he breaks out and almost shrieks, and it’s spine-tinglingly effective; all the more so for the way it contrasts with the rest of the song. I still haven’t figured exactly what the song is about (never my strong suit), but there a lot of little lyrical gems in here, leading up to the closer: “I could use your help, so stop blaming your failures on somebody else.” Words we could all stand to hear from time to time.
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