The Weakerthans - Fallow (Cover Artwork)

The Weakerthans

The Weakerthans: Fallow

Fallow (1999)

G7 Welcoming Committee


5
I'm really intimidated writing this review. I really don't think I can do this record justice. It's so unparalleled I feel intimidated just listening to it! It reminds me that I'm young, not in the sense that it makes me feel carefree, but in the sense that it reminds me that I have a life full of e...

I'm really intimidated writing this review. I really don't think I can do this record justice. It's so unparalleled I feel intimidated just listening to it! It reminds me that I'm young, not in the sense that it makes me feel carefree, but in the sense that it reminds me that I have a life full of experiences ahead. It makes me feel like Slackers did - it makes me want to go to foreign countries and experience things. The Weakerthans' lyrics make me want to go to "An all night restaurant" and trace outlines in spilt sugar, it makes me want to see the stopped clocks "At the corner of Albert Street", to lie "naked in the rain... singing Boney M". The lyrics seem to document the sad end of a relationship so personally that the listener becomes more a voyeur than a casual passer by. The accompanying music is exactly the appropriate soundtrack, with many different moods, from the sad, Dylan-esque 'Sounds Familiar', a solo acoustic piece with a performance that leaves the listener truly breathless, to the (as much as I hate to use this word, but it's so appropriate) rocking 'Confessions of a Futon-Revolutionist', which boasts possibly the best lyrics I am ever likely to hear. The only trace of John K Samson's past on this album - 'Anchorless', which first appeared on Propagandhi's 'Less Talk More Rock' - has been changed almost beyond recognition, listening to it is almost like meeting your childhood best friend 20 years on and finding them matured and almost unrecognisable. However, I have never experienced that, but this album reminds me that I have a whole life of such experiences ahead. Appeared originally at Pacer Webzine