The Grammy-nominated singer-songwriter teams up with producer Sam Evian for an assured, exploratory, and warm record that mirrors a newly opened heart.
The promise of a new day lurks within the heart of Loose Future, the eighth album from Courtney Marie Andrews. It’s a switch of sound and aesthetic for Andrews, a singer-songwriter with an emo background—she toured with Jimmy Eat World at the outset of her career—who came to favor austere Americana over a series of albums for Fat Possum in the 2010s.
Listen closely and faint echoes of folk can be discerned embedded within the cool, polished veneer of Loose Future. Andrews sculpts songs with care, her strummed guitar providing a pulse that’s felt as much as heard. Despite this sturdy foundation, the album is essentially the polar opposite of Old Flowers, a stark and sad record that rightfully earned her a Grammy nomination for Best Americana album in 2020. There, Andrews plumbed the depths of a painful breakup, offering a melancholy meditation on the fading of love. Here, the world opens up thanks to a new romance, a reawakening that gives the album a sense of possibility: What lies ahead may be uncertain yet it feels positive, even joyous. As she sings on “Older Now,” a shimmering piece of self-acceptance, “life is better without plans.”
That embrace of the unknown would be enough to give Loose Future a sensibility distinct from Andrews’ other albums yet this thematic shift is eclipsed by her decision to expand her aural palette by working with Sam Evian. A producer who previously has helmed records by Big Thief and Cassandra Jenkins, Evian eases Andrews into a different sonic world, trading upon sounds from the peak of classic rock and new wave, the studio flair accentuating feelings instead of covering them.
Echoes of country-rock float throughout Loose Future—a steel guitar lends “You Do What You Want” a plaintive note—yet it’s only an echo, one of many colors at play. Loose Future is painted in bright, sounding vivid even in its slowest moments, as when “Let Her Go” is graced with layers of vocal harmonies or when “Change My Mind” gets a lift from supple strings. While the album never is quite lively, there’s a perceptible pulse provided by Grizzly Bear’s Chris Bear, his backbeat giving shape and structure to the gentle swirls of sound created by Andrews, Evian and multi-instrumentalist Josh Kaufman. Sometimes, Loose Future evokes distinct sounds or eras. “There Are The Old Guys” hints at girl-group pop, “Thinkin’ On You” is ornate country-rock decorated with chiming 12-string guitars, “Loose Future” recalls when Lindsey Buckingham refashioned Fleetwood Mac as a new wave outfit for adult contemporary airwaves. Usually, Loose Future seems to exist slightly outside of time, its retro stylings not there for fashion but emotion.
Andrews’ music always has been emotionally frank, an attribute that can make an album as heartbroken as Old Flowers feel a bit fragile. Although it sounds markedly different than its predecessors, that characteristic remains intact on Loose Future. The smooth, radiant production doesn’t amount to commercial pandering: It’s assured, exploratory, and warm music that mirrors Andrews’ newly opened heart.
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