Durand Jones’s first solo venture makes waves celebrating Louisiana, life, love, and Jones’s artistic vision. Imbued with the neo-vintage sound that labels like Colemine and Dead Oceans Records have solidified, Jones welcomes the rawness of the full band live tracking (vocals included) together in the studio. Cautious yet deliberate, Jones exposes a deeply personal glimmer of himself: we are treated to the hazy fondness surrounding his childhood memories, a public declaration of love written to another man, and the seemingly perpetual assessment of “what’s wrong with the South.” The style and content of the record may not land perfectly for everyone, but its artistry and vision deserve a listen.
Rating: 7.5/10
Genre: Soul / Rock
Length: 41m 07s
Release Date: May 5, 2023
Label: Dead Oceans
Streaming quality: 96kHz/24-bit
On The Record
I think about the American South often. When I do, I’m in good company. I discovered the Bitter Southerner in 2019 and felt like I stumbled into an in-the-know enclave of writers, artists, and thinkers that were pushing discussions about the South forward. Chuck Reece, one of the founding members of the Bitter Southerner, spun off his own publication called Salvation South a few years ago. Now home to the sort of writing I originally fell in love with from the Bitter Southerner, Salvation South’s most recent article (“The Everchanging Colors of the South” by Ellen Corry") resonated deeply with me. Ellen addresses what it means to be young and, from the South, and move to New York in search of more opportunity. The cost of that transition is not apparent until she returns home. After leaving Louisiana three-and-a-half years ago, I forget just how much of my identity still resides there until I’m back and remember the feeling of being perfectly at home. This quote from Ellen’s article perfectly captures my sentiment:
“I want what I cannot have. In New York, a fundamental element of me feels misplaced.“
My purpose for sharing the article from Salvation South is to directly interrogate my home state. As I listen to Wait Til I Get Over, I circle the same questions repeatedly. Mostly rhetorical, I know the answer to these questions in a broad sense, yet they ring loudly every time I spin this record. “Why did Jones have to leave Louisiana to make this record? Why did he have to move to Indiana to meet the future members of Durand Jones and the Indications? Where is our community of support for talented, enterprising, brilliant artists like Jones?”
It’s evident that Jones might have asked himself the same questions. Hailing from Hillaryville, Louisiana, Jones internalized the common refrain that he had to “get out” of Hillaryville to make it. In short personal essays included with the vinyl version of the record, Jones grapples with what it means to return, to visit family that didn’t get out and visit a place seemingly caught in time. He grapples with what could make Hillaryville “the place you’d most want to live” as espoused by his grandmother when it contrasts so heavily against other places with better opportunities and more forward-thinking ideas about masculinity and sexuality. Therein lies the subdued, beating heart of this record: how do Southerners square a beautiful, fond nostalgia for a place that is so fraught with problems?
Sound Impressions
The record begins with a beautiful ballad called “Gerri Marie,” which sounds like it was written for a past love. From the first fluttering piano chord and string support, the vision and bittersweet nostalgia of this record is laid bare, thereby serving as a lovely overture. We travel further back in time as “The Place You’d Most Want to Live (Interlude)” unravels dreamlike sounds of memory beneath Jones’s spoken narration.
The energy perks up in the next tune “Lord Have Mercy.” Landing more closely to Jones’s work with The Indications, “Lord Have Mercy” is a funky expression of Jones’s influences. I am particularly fond of the crunchy, dry percussion sounds and fuzzy, unencumbered electric guitar.
Skipping to the title track, “Wait Til I Get Over,” Jones’s vocals enter wavering and almost unsure. Practically an allegory for his solo work, once the chorus responds, Jones finds his voice in brilliant fashion. This is one of my favorite performances on the record. From a lone voice to triumphant group piece, it melts and swirls and degrades into a warm, hazy version of what it once was. This track reinforces my opinion that this record has captured what memories of the South would sound like.
The record moves to another love song. “That Feeling” marks a rather brave moment in which Jones comes out publicly as bisexual. Undeniably heartwarming, this piece is evolves in three parts. It opens with a porch-y, soft sound that becomes more raucous before pausing and becoming more of a conventional soul ballad that reprises the energy of the middle portion. There’s something about Jones’s delivery of
“And baby, I’m trying to find that feeling”
that has me singing the melody to myself often.
The inclusion of rain and thunder in “See It Through (Interlude)” creates a lovely cinematic atmosphere. I particularly like the way the foreboding storm sounds yield to water lapping tranquilly at the shore. It is as if to say that seeing through the tumult of the storm will give way to a calm serenity.
The back half of the album features stronger personal storytelling. The four songs following “See It Through (Interlude)” convey more confidence and power. “See It Through” is a fun rock tune, and “Someday We’ll All Be Free” reminds me of the gospel-adjacent work of Gregory Porter. The social-commentary rap verses were unexpected, but not unwelcome.
The last two songs, “Letter to My 17 Year Old Self” and “Secrets,” are reflections about a younger Jones from a wiser perspective. The timeless sonic character and raw advice in“Secrets” permeates to my core before I am entranced by the sounds of the water. How can the outro of an album make me yearn so deeply for home?
Final Thoughts
This is a beautiful, inspired, and open venture by Durand Jones. What it lacks in broad commercial appeal it recuperates through earnest artistry and vision. This record does better as the whole package: there are stunning music videos available online and the book of liner notes, lyrics, and photographs hits differently when listening to the imperfections of vinyl. This record transported me into Jones’s vision of his home and his personal life, and forced me to think about my own. This deeply personal set of songs has a resounding power. I put off this review for weeks because I’m not sure where this record is going to sit in my library, nor what sort of place it will hold in my future life. Only the passage of time and the choices I make about my relationship to the South will reveal the answer to these two questions.
On my radar
Here are some things I'm checking out lately.
Top of the list is this release from a supergroup called The Ironsides (out via Colemine records). I’m really digging on cinematic music experiences lately. The Ironsides do not disappoint.
I have also been returning frequently to this performance of “Summertime” from Marcus King and Billy Strings at Carter’s Vintage Guitars in Nashville. It’s a brilliant duet from two world-class players.