by Craig Howieson

Flowers is a happily haunted account of events past, present and yet to come – it is also, in its simplest form, a great listen

You could walk the streets you grew up on forever without ever recapturing that same feeling you had as a child – that strange middle ground between being completely carefree while fearing the worlds beyond your own that lay not too far beyond the horizon. Shapes and echoes will abound, pulling you deep into memories, but you will never again be like you were then – in the same way that tomorrow you will be an altered version of who you are today. 

Peter Matthew Bauer’s third record – and first in five years since the release of Mount Qaf – straddles both time and place, conjuring childhood as well as a fear of the future, and despite the fact almost all members of The Walkmen’s solo material holds a strain of NYC at its core, Flowers is nomadic – pulling you from deep pools to lofty vistas effortlessly.

Co-produced with former Walkmen bandmate, Matt Barrick – whose ‘sports drumming’ as the two coined it, is a constant joy throughout – Flowers, upon first listen, immediately feels like a timeless rock and roll record. But it is also much more than that. A swanky groove filters through 21st Century Station, that sounds like a reggae standard being dragged through a New Orleans’ speakeasy. And the organ that opens Skulls may be akin to the type of adornments The Walkmen used, but its guitar solo pulls it in a far more psych-rock direction. 

There is plenty to love on Flowers, but, perhaps, its finest moments come on the spiritual twins of Miracles and the album’s closer Chiyoda, Arkansas, Manila. Miracles is a slow burning lament looking back on a life and charting the course of what could have been (‘If you could do it all again / would it pass so fast / would you change a thing’). And each time the track drops to just Bauer and an acoustic guitar, you can’t help but be transported back to simpler days when the world seemed wide open. Chiyoda, Arkansas, Manila, in contrast, casts a distrusting eye on the future, and the difficulty in knowing who to trust (‘They don’t know how I feel / They are not your friends / it’s just where you grew up’). But with its truly anthemic backing, it instills an unequivocal sense that hope still lies ahead.

Flowers is kaleidoscopic in its vision. A happily haunted account of events past, present, and yet to come. It is also, in its simplest form, a great listen. And testament to the enduring friendship of Bauer and Barrick who have brought it into being.

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