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| Popmatters |
 Glenn Jones considers himself a student of the “Takoma school”, the group of acoustic guitar players that learned from the genius of John Fahey. This movement is sometimes referred to as American Primitive, but Takoma school is more fitting for a skilled player like Jones. Schools are places where we learn knowledge and skills, but then we have to go out and apply those skills. They don’t exist in a vacuum; they’re often subject to our own interpretations and unique applications.So while players like Fahey and Robbie Basho and modern players like Jack Rose and Ben Chasny will surely come to mind, you’re unlikely to mistake The Wanting for belonging to anyone but Glenn Jones. His first album for the Thrill Jockey label is a brilliant set of compositions, instrumentals that focus on Jones’ uncanny and intricate guitar (and, for the first time, banjo) playing. The playing here is impeccable, brilliant in an almost inhuman way. The notes come fast and in smooth, complex rolls of sound. It’s the kind of playing that makes you think three hands are at work. But it isn’t the intricacy and technical acumen of The Wanting that makes Glenn Jones’ new album so striking. There are plenty of brilliant guitar players out there, but Glenn Jones distinguishes himself by evoking deep feeling with his playing. This isn’t noodling or wanking, not intricacy for intricacy’s sake. These songs all establish their own feel, build their own atmosphere, and deliver it with an impressive yet subtle force. Fittingly, the titles often deal in places and artifacts, each destination with its own share of memories to tote around, each piece of a life lived soaked in meaning. Opener “A Snapshot of Mom, Scotland 1957” is spacious, even cautious in the note phrasings at first. Jones is easing his way into the past, feeling around for the important bits, the parts that still reside in some nearly forgotten corner of the mind. The song never bursts to live, but it finds solid ground and blooms in its humble way. The notes tumble down, climb and tumble again. That time long gone is found again, and you can feel the distance beautifully in Jones’ careful playing. It’s a slight but key contrast to the more percussive, quick roll of notes on “The Great Pacific Northwest”. You can hear the low end of the guitar work its way in as the riffs tighten into punchy, melodic structures. There are striking flourishes, but the power of the song comes in its sturdy construction. If the opener is awash in dreams of the past, this second track is immediate and vibrant....full text |
| Dustedmagazine |
| For a solo instrumentalist, Glenn Jones is a hell of a songwriter. Songs are supposed to have words, and while no one sings on his, you can hear words rolling off of the hooks cast out by his banjo and acoustic guitars. It’s easy to sing the title of the downbeat slide meditation “Even to Win is to Fail” as he plays the chorus, but just as easy to get those licks stuck in your head whether you think about words or not. It’s as earworm-worthy as a Motown track. Jones is also quite conscious of being part of a tradition. It’s called American Primitive Guitar. True, he’s written the book on John Fahey (it comes with the boxed set of Fahey juvenilia, Your Past Comes Back To Haunt You), and spent decades as one of the custodians of the legacy of Robbie Basho. But he doesn’t just play like they played (although he certainly can) — he does what they did, namely start with an acoustic guitar and a background in American folk styles, then make emotionally resonant and deeply personal music out of everything you know. He’s written texts for each of the albums he’s made since turning away from the band Cul De Sac seven years ago to focus on being a solo performer, so you don’t have to just sing titles during his songs. And there are texts here: telling you about the tunings he likes to devise and discard, how much he likes to play the banjo, and the places and people that loom in his life. “Twenty-Three Years in Happy Valley, or Life Among the Chickenshit,” for example, is about what you should never say to your boss; it also gives some clues to why he doesn’t seem too apologetic for saying it. But while the title and tale might bring you a smile, neither is essential to appreciate his bright tone and just-so melodic turns. So what to make of Jones’ choice not to write anything about the title track to The Wanting? It’s tempting to fall back on description and comparison, to point out that the tuning puts a cushioned, springy buzz to a rhythm that would have been all muscle if Fahey had played it, or to note that the melody has that “damn, it’s good to see the sun rise” joy that infused Basho’s best work. Perhaps whatever he’s wishing for or doesn’t have is something too personal or boring to tell. Anyway you perceive it, “The Wanting” is a lovely four-minute mystery....full text |
| Knoxroad |
| The Wanting is an intriguing title for Glenn Jones’ fourth solo record, and first for the Thrill Jockey label. You expect to feel a deep yearning of sense of loss pouring from each song; instead, each track is completely satisfying and exudes feelings of contentment. Jones comes from the John Fahey and Robbie Basho school of finger-style guitar players. He picks his way across the guitar (6 and 12 string varieties) on this record, but he also adds a bit of banjo to the mix on tracks like “The Great Swamp Way Rout” and “Menotomy River Blues”. The epic album closer, “The Orca Grande Cement Factory at Victorville” is a stunner. Here Jones is joined by drummer Chris Corsano for a collaboration that delivers a track-long struggle between guitar and drums. Jones guitar is sometimes pushed aside by Corsano’s percussion, only to rear up in a controlled frenzy, righting the balance until the skirmish begins again....full text |
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