Jim O'Rourke - Eureka

In which a broad sonic palette delivers the softest of touches from a slept-on genius

Click here to listen to the album while you read

Depending on the musical circles you move in, Jim O’Rourke may either be completely unknown to you, or familiar as either a founding member of Gastr Del Sol, or a part-time member of Sonic Youth. What I generally find is that fewer people are aware of his solo work; ironic, given this album, Eureka, is a true classic.

Growing up, I took the usual route through music as any angry teen might: metal, then DC punk, then on to dance/electronic vibes and beyond, always retaining a love for what I’d discovered as I progressed onto the next revelation. However one sound that remained unfamiliar to me until my later teens was that kind of expansive production that Brian Wilson championed with the Beach Boys.

Perhaps the defining aspect of that sound - called “chamber pop” by some, to my umbrage - is its extremely broad use of instrumentation. The average band may draw upon guitar, bass, drums and maybe keys. Wilson’s approach favoured something almost more akin to classical music and the orchestra: a tonally rich variety of instruments, working in concert across the sonic spectrum (and the left-to-right sonic space of the mix) to deliver something quite heavenly.

Fans of Sufjan Stevens would, I’d argue, know what I am talking about here, as anyone who has heard albums like Illinois will doubtless relate to my point.

In Eureka, O’Rourke ventured down a similar path, at least on the opening wonder of a song: a cover of Ivor Cutler’s Women Of The World. If you’re not familiar with the original, here’s your chance:

O’Rourke takes Cutler’s chanted warning and somehow turns it into a wonderful, optimistic version that, when the xylophones and other accompaniments kick in around the 20s mark, cannot fail to uplift your heart and make your soul soar. This is divine music, no two ways about it.

Unlike Cutler, O’Rourke delivers the song’s message - “women of the world, take over, because if you don’t the world will come to an end” - plaintively, simply, as if it is an accepted wisdom by now.

If ever an opening song set the tone for an album, it is this one.

Following on from Women Of The World is Ghost Ship In A Storm, and I’d argue this is where the album moves into its stride. There’s a simple elegance to this music; the understated percussion always moving this forward with a quiet intimacy of a sort.

Ironically, despite the soulful, reflective tone, this is actually something of a miserablist’s anthem, each verse dealing with some kind of “yeah that would happen to me” dour take:

It's just my luck
I get hit by a car
While carrying a cake
Dripping cherries
Onto the pavement
Bride and groom on my face

Despite the depressing angle, the song somehow remains upbeat, the slide guitar solo coming in towards the song’s end somehow bringing an almost blue sky, widescreen vibe.

Next comes Movie On The Way Down, the double bass work on which always reminds me of Danny Thompson’s work for the likes of John Martyn and Tim Buckley. Again, this is a harmonically complex piece, albeit more abstract, drawing in trombone, cornet, violin, Rhodes piano and more.

However just as you feel this song is merely a piece of musique concrete, all other instrumentation fades away to just O’Rourke and the Rhodes, with trombone accompanying in quite a mournful manner.

Does the mirror say, "Good day, today"?
Does your family make you feel pride?
Do their pictures keep you warm?
Is your smile so easily worn?
Worn away

Do you feel proud?

Through the Night Softly starts in a Miles Davis kind of manner, sax gently accompanying the piano, before things start to move into more oblique spaces with steel pans, a gently ribbiting synth and, eventually, drums and horns stepping back into the frame as a choir sings harmony. Steely Dan also come to mind here, probably due to the distinctly MOR sax solo, courtesy of Ken Vandermark. All that being said, something about the chord progressions reminds me of the Beach Boys too. The final movement also manages to evoke Pink Floyd, circa Dark Side of the Moon, though don’t ask me specifically why. Listen and you’ll see what I mean. Not a bad trio of reference points to bring to mind in one song.

Another instrumental follows, Please Patronize Our Sponsors. This is more upbeat, almost lounge-like in vibe, at least for the first couple of minutes, something that serves as a sonic palette cleanser of a sort. After a couple of minutes however, the song veers towards a chamber quartet sound, once again accompanied by vocal harmonies, before vanishing almost as quickly as it arrived.

The lounge tone arguably tees up the next track, Something Big, which uses a bossa nova beat and vaudeville-style female vocals to deliver the main hook:

There'll be joy
And there'll be laughter
Something big is what I'm after now
Yes, it's what I'm after now

With horns chasing the main chorus melody, this is quite the jaunty bossa gem. Taken on its own, I’d imagine it would sound distinctly retro, yet in the flow of this album, it somehow makes sense. Again, this broad palette of sound cuts through, with strings, horns, percussion, vocal harmonies and more ensuring that the whole sound is texturally diverse.

After Something Big, we come to the title track from the album. Eureka is another introspective slice of moping, and yet again, juxtaposed with this clean guitar sound and the warm intimacy of the synth soundscapes accompanying it, it somehow seems hopeful. Lyrically, the song is an admission of failure. I’d argue the song is anything but.

Finally, we hit album closer Happy Holidays, which reveals the true extent of despair that is actually underpinning this record.

That is this album’s genius to me: listen to the lyrics, and it is clear that the protagnist is not in a good place. Happy Holidays could almost be construed as a suicide note, such is the depressed finality of its lyrics:

One of life's greatest sins
Is that you're over when it begins

Goodbye, Mouth Canyon
You weren't very much to see
But I only came to leave

Despite what might read as a miserable listen, though, Eureka is - to me anyway - anything but. The melodies are upbeat, the solos all soar. This is not a record melodically wallowing in the black dog space; if anything it is hope shining through, the music overpowering the mood of the subject in each song to deliver a glorious dose of hope.

A moment should be taken to acknowledge just what a feat O’Rourke pulled off with this album. The arrangements here are all stellar, and he was able to bring together some phenomenally talented players to deliver his vision. “Everything is simple, but profound”, as Room40’s Lawrence English put it in his own appreciation of the album.

Simplicity is one of the hardest things in music to pull off. It is even harder when something sounds simple but is in fact very complicated in the layers of instrumentation being created. O’Rourke achieves all of that here, showing his artistry and genius as a musician.

For me this is a treasure of an album. It’s a perfect Sunday kind of record; one to have on with your drink of choice. As John Doran of The Quietus so perfectly says every week on Twitter: “have you ever just sat in a chair and listened to a record?”. Only if you have not, might I suggest you start that ritual with this one?

Enjoy x.