Sundowner (n): The onset of restlessness, agitation, irritability, fear and confusion as daylight begins to fade.
When I first met Britton Deuel, I was attending a gig of his at The Basement in Nashville that a mutual friend had invited me to. More times than not, you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into attending one of these shows. And to my own fault I would typically use this as an excuse only to get out and have a few drinks. To my surprise, this wasn’t one of those times. I instantly felt some kind of connection in Britton and his music. His voice cut right through me and I instantly believed every single word he sang. There was a yearning and desperation there that I couldn’t shake.
After a few more shows and hangs, we developed a friendship. It’s funny, you go from talking about Pearl Jam for an hour and the next thing you know you’re philosophizing our collective significance here on this rock. I found that what connected me to his music is what connected me to him on a personal level. That desperation I felt in the songs I heard that night at The Basement was a similar feeling I’d been wrestling with in my own personal endeavors. It’s this seemingly unshakeable fear of meaninglessness, like a cuckoo clock always striking the hour to remind you that your time is up. We knew there were no definite answers to these universal fears, but by trial and error, there was a determination to get as close as possible.
Fast forward to now. Those very songs that connected me to Britton have found their way to a convenient spot in my headphones in the form of his new album, Sundowner. It’s here that Britton has encapsulated the darkness and fears into a cathartic whirlwind of emotion that plays like an internal reckoning. From the opening track, “Deep River,” the listener is stirred from their hazy eyes “waking in a panic” to the day’s anxieties focused on the successes, whether real or a façade, of others. The listener is left questioning how to move forward when constantly fed comparisons of life and the right way to live.
The album reaches its sonic zenith with “Leaving Town,” a brooding folk number that deals with the weight of comfort and how that could ultimately be our demise. Britton reflects on his youth, “Sitting on the shoulders of my father, there was never fear of falling, only voices in the distance calling,” while alluding to a mural on a liquor store with “hands stretched out, holding the world.” The haunting ambiance of the song lends itself to the conflicts of shedding the blanket of comfort to gamble on the unknown. The dread of change can be paralyzing, but you must shed the complacency to grow.
If “Leaving Town” is the shedding of home, “For Dear Life” is the construction of a new one. The song breathes a sense of alleviation and gratitude in what Britton has found in opening himself up for something greater, “My heart lies in the palm of your hands whenever I need a place to land.” It’s as if he is finding solace in his shortcomings by handing them over to someone or something greater than himself.
The album closes with the title track “Sundowner.” A slow burner that finds Britton reckoning with the struggle to find significance and the realization that there must be an action for change. After all of the struggle, the questioning, and self-doubt, we find ourselves staring into the eyes of ourselves and our loved ones, hoping for the empathy and grace we might have not given, “looking back on the blood I’ve spilled on the floor, every drop leaves a trail leading where I was before.” This self-reflection catalyzes the progression, revealing the fears and constant berating of past failures that has plagued forward motion.
No matter how big the dream is, no matter how high or far we can get, hitting the ground will never get easier; we just hope to wake up before we hit. Knowing Britton and seeing his progression as a songwriter and as a human humbles me. Looking back on conversation after conversation, trying to find the root of what keeps holding us back accumulating into this. Nobody can find the answers to why we must harm ourselves by comparison, failure, and fear, but Britton has beautifully crafted something that at least wrestles with it enough to find some peace. Sundowner shows there is always hope in the hopelessness, just don’t confuse what truly is the dream “before the sun goes down with the day.”
Patton Hughes