Send "Mason Jennings " Ringtones to your Cell 
| Popmatters |
 It’s possible to be too productive. While decades ago a lot of musicians pumped out many more records in a much shorter time than we’re used to today, it is easy to forget the reams of mediocre work this very often resulted in. A band like the Beatles were the exception, not the rule, as a group of extraordinary creatives who had the immense talent to put out thirteen superb albums in less than eight years. Conversely, Hawaii-born singer-songwriter Mason Jennings is among a comparatively small number of modern musicians whose bid to maintain an almost 1960s-esque work rate is arguably to the detriment of his records, Minnesota included.The problem is not so much that the songs are poor—indeed at least from a lyrical perspective, there are some real gems here—but rather that Jennings has not dedicated to his tunes the time and polish that would bring them to their full potential. With just nine songs and less than 35 minutes with which to impress, one would think that Jennings would take the time to work each track to a shine, but what we are instead left with is a record which sounds oddly sparse and disappointingly under-developed. Mid-album highlight “Rudy”, for example, flirts from start to finish with real wonder, but never quite makes it. Jennings’ absorbing tale of a despotic king oppressing a kind of fantasy pastoral community of which our host imagines himself a part is a songwriter’s playground, but the by-the-numbers arrangement fails to do the idea justice. The song’s acoustic guitar, drums, piano, and organ are functional enough, but leave it crying out for something more special to make the most of the drama as “good, kind Rudy” stands up to his greedy ruler....full text |
| Pastemagazine |
| Throughout his decade-plus career, Minneapolis surfer-friendly singer-songwriter Mason Jennings has crafted quite the soundtrack to the evolution of the adolescent mind and formation of the beliefs and ideas that come with it, penning tunes navigating religion, quietly angry political anthems (such as his tribute to late Minnesota senator Paul Wellstone), catchy-but-earnest love songs and barefoot festie sing-alongs like “Keepin’ It Real” and “I Love You and Buddha Too.” But now, the kid who loved Bob Dylan and taught himself the guitar as a teen is 36, a husband and father, and Jennings’ latest album, which bears the name of his adoptive home state, is a manifestation of that transition into adulthood. If Minnesota had a thesis statement, the album’s fourth track, “Clutch,” would be it. Here is the struggle between young adulthood and settling down, where our narrator is uncomfortable with his own levels of nostalgia ("When I was young / older people would reminisce / I’d say, ‘No that’s not me.’’). But as he waxes nostalgic about a lost love, the tempo picks up, the horns join in out of nowhere and the floodgates have been opened: recollections of wheedling older siblings to buy booze, kissing your significant other so hard you chip their two front teeth and other goofy anecdotes that are easily recognized without feeling ham-fisted. And as with the opener, he shifts two-thirds of the way through, this time pulling an almost Ferris Bueller-esque breaking of the fourth wall (do the kids these days still get that reference?) to ask the listeners at home directly about their own lost loves and irreplaceable moments. Similarly captivating is the low-key folk confessional “Wake Up,” in which Jennings recounts his struggles with anxiety, turning to meditation and coming to terms with his illness with narrative strength and candor....full text |
| Slantmagazine |
| Since recording his debut album in his living room, Mason Jennings has made the best of his DIY aesthetic, which brings a degree of intimacy and warmth to his otherwise conventional singer-songwriter style. On Minnesota, that warmth and personable tone pay dividends, as many of the songs on Jennings's ninth album are often pretty for the sake of being pretty, and the tempo often slows to a crawl, so the album benefits from having a believable first-person character. Still, Minnesota is effective in evoking particular moments in time and specific places, and it's a likably "homey" kind of record. The majority of the album is grounded in Jennings's competent but unremarkable piano playing, with occasional flourishes of more interesting instruments to give texture to his arrangements. The electric organ figure that runs throughout the refrain of "No Relief" is particularly effective, creating a contrast between the song's dirge-like verses and its sprightly chorus. On "Raindrops on the Kitchen Floor," however, the use of organ and choral backing vocals only heighten the obvious debt the song owes to the Beatles. With its simplistic but sweetly sung hook and light-hearted tone ("You know that it's true/This heart was made for you"), the song scans as a long-lost McCartney B-side. Unfortunately for Jennings, there really isn't anything about his songwriting that's distinctive enough to overcome comparisons to much bigger names. "Clutch" starts off as a tedious bit of cabaret-pop that apes the melody of Burt Bacharach's "I Just Don't Know What to Do with Myself," with an uptempo B section built around some awkward turns of phrase. "Hearts Stop Beating" includes several clumsy lines that don't match the song's meter, and Jennings gives the song a jangly production wash that sounds badly dated, like it should be included on an '80s one-hit wonder compilation. It's the handful of tracks on which Jennings stretches beyond familiar troubadour conventions that are Minnesota's best. He spins a compelling narrative with the protracted metaphor of "Rudy," while the double-tracked, mambo-inspired rhythm arrangement on "Well on Love" is well matched to the song's cockeyed romantic tale. "Witches Dream" makes great use of a distorted, electric strings section to create an ominous vibe that supports the song's nonlinear structure....full text |
Mason Jennings lyrics
|
| ||||||||||
