Friday, April 4, 2025 · 8:00 PM CDT
Jeffrey Martin
with special guest Lou Hazel
4545 N Lincoln Ave · The Myron R. Szold Music & Dance Hall · 773.728.6000
Friday, April 4, 2025 · 8:00 PM CDT
4545 N Lincoln Ave · The Myron R. Szold Music & Dance Hall · 773.728.6000
On a small corner lot in southeast Portland, Oregon, Jeffrey Martin holed up through the winter recording his quietly potent new album Thank God We Left The Garden. Long nights bled into mornings in the tiny shack he built in the backyard, eight feet by ten feet. What began as demos meant for a later visit to a proper studio became the album itself, spare and intimate and true. Recorded live and alone around two microphones, Jeffrey often held his breath to wait for the low diesel hum of a truck to pass one block over on the busy thoroughfare. During the coldest nights, he timed recording between the clicks of the oil coil heater cycling on and off.
So much has happened in the world since the release of his previous album One Go Around (heralded by No Depression as 'the poetry of America'), and Jeffrey has filled the time doggedly, but happily, touring the US and Europe, watching it all unfold in a stream of small town conversations and city sprawl. In a moment where depth is so often traded for the instantaneous, where tech billionaires are building rockets to escape the planet, where the dead-eyed stare of artificial intelligence is promising to existentially upend our world, and where divisiveness in our culture is breeding delusional levels of certainty, Jeffrey Martin's new record feels like a hopeful and fully human antidote.
Lou Hazel crafts genuine folk tales of honest longing, disquieting loss, and nostalgia through a brilliant sheen of fresh insight with humble humor. Grabbing us by the ears in a new-age, Prine-like grip. Transforming the minutiae of everyday life into ever more evocative music. And surprising us all, including himself, with where we emerge.
In other words, Lou Hazel is coming out of this unbearable, unbelievably tragic, disconcerting year like a damn newborn moth with jet engine wings aimed toward a totally full super-moon. And it is good.