I’m trying to get away from thinking of Tuesday Morning 3 A.M. as a review column.

I know, that’s a little silly, since literally all I do in this space is review music. But I’m talking about a different headspace for myself. This project started 22 years (!) ago as a bi-weekly feature in Face Magazine covering contemporary music as it came out. It was a vacuum that needed filling – Face’s excellent staff featured a lot of focus on the classic decades of rock and punk, without lavishing much attention on the new stuff.

Granted, in the late ‘90s a lot of that new stuff was terrible. But I took it upon myself to dutifully cover that stuff, listening to it and giving my take on it. (Once upon a time I wasted some ink on a positive review of Limp Bizkit’s Significant Other, and I blame the ‘90s the way hippies blame the ‘60s for bell bottoms.) When I left Face and started this version of the column up, I stayed in the same mode, reviewing new music whether or not I liked it, as if it were still my job to do so. And for nearly 19 years I have essentially thought of this thing the same way.

But now, with my stated intention to make this more fun for me, I’m starting to interrogate those impulses. I’ve spent a lot of time responding to high-profile releases (or important lower-profile releases) just because that’s what would be expected of a weekly music column, and that’s time that I have not spent talking about the music I truly love. I’m hoping to address that balance. There is a sense of duty to it for me, still – I waxed ecstatic about Marillion last week, so I should really dip into the records the rest of the world is interested in this week.

Here’s a good case in point, though: I’m tired of talking about the National. Not only are they the darlings of the critical press, they’re well-loved among my friends, and people ask me about them all the time. So I’m kind of forced to find new ways to say “I don’t like them,” and to justify my own disinterest in them. Let’s be clear: I buy every National album, hoping that it will hook me, and that I will finally be able to join in the cultural conversation about them in a positive way.

So I did buy I Am Easy to Find, the band’s eighth record. (As a side note, someone had to remind me that they’ve had seven albums, since I totally forgot about 2017’s Sleep Well Beast.) I’ve heard it four times now, and I’m happy to say it’s my favorite National album. But I still don’t like it much. They’ve worked overtime here to address some of my big issues with their work – the textures and orchestration are lush and beautiful, and Matt Berninger is essentially a featured performer on his own band’s record, his mopey, somnambulant voice bolstered by strong lead spots from Gail Ann Dorsey, Lisa Hannigan, Sharon Van Etten and others. The rotating lead vocalists give this long record an appealing mixtape feel.

But the songs are still boring, and none of them stick. If I were to review this album, I would right now come up with examples where the elements all work, but the bones are weak. (OK, I’ll name one: “The Pull of You,” which includes vocals by Hannigan and Van Etten, a spoken-word section and some cresting and crashing instrumentation, all of which is in service of a song that repeats four chords for four minutes, with no chorus. It’s superficially interesting, and certainly a nice step forward for the band, but underneath there isn’t anything for me to grab onto.)

I don’t want to, though. I’m still listening to this and trying to love it, because it feels like something I should love. But I don’t, not yet. More than that, though, I feel like it’s something I’m supposed to love, and I’m trying to get beyond that idea. I’ve been trying for years, though, and I’m still susceptible to it. I make myself want to like it, and that only adds to the pressure when I don’t. I Am Easy to Find, while absolutely the best thing I have heard from this band, isn’t working for me as well as I know it is working for other people and other critics. I’m supposed to like it and I don’t.

But I’m even trying to move past the idea of having to review something I’m supposed to like, whether or not I like it. Here’s a really good example: Lizzo’s Cuz I Love You. I’ve been watching for her name ever since my friend Javi told me about her, and I’ve liked everything I’ve heard from her. I liked Lizzo even before I heard her records, just for what she represents – she looks nothing like the typical pop star, and instead of hiding it, she flaunts it, saying with every confident move that she knows she is beautiful, and she knows you are too. It’s a look the music industry needs, desperately.

But she’s also pretty awesome, musically speaking. Cuz I Love You, Lizzo’s third record, is a 42-minute burst of infectious energy. She has a powerful, bold voice and she matches it with bold songs about life, love and throwing like a girl. This is a record that struts, and every song is exactly as long as it needs to be, handing off to the next in three minutes or so. Flashy banger “Juice” is basically the song of the summer, but I love that it passes the baton to “Soulmate,” an ode to loving yourself that makes me smile every time. (“Woke up in the mirror, like, damn, she’s the one.”)

Basically, I love this record, which means I agree with the cultural zeitgeist for what is probably the first time in a while. Cuz I Love You deserves all the praise I’m lavishing on it – Lizzo makes me swoon for a soulful kiss-off tune like “Jerome,” proves she can hang with Missy Elliott on the clubby “Tempo,” gets sexy on “Lingerie” and leaves us with my favorite song, the effervescent “Water Me,” all with a remarkable energy that never flags. I’m excited to talk about it.

And yet I also feel oddly obligated to talk about it, because of the moment Lizzo is having right now, and I’m working on resisting that feeling. I waited quite a while to talk about it (essentially holding out for the CD release, which came more than a month after the digital release), riding out the hype. Normally when I dig something this much I’m jazzed to share my thoughts, but this time I kind of held back. I’m glad to be on record (ha!) with my love for this thing, especially since I’ve been asked where my review of it is. I’m trying to find the balance between obligation and joy, even when I really like something and could easily add to the chorus of praise.

I know, this is all very strange, and I’m probably the only one who thinks this way. That said, though, I’m glad to have a record to close things out with that a) I quite like and b) nobody is waiting for me to talk about. I’ve been kind of in love with The Head and the Heart since their debut in 2011, and that love only grew when they fully embraced their Fleetwood Mac influences on 2016’s Signs of Light. Their fourth record, Living Mirage, continues in that vein, and it’s similarly lovely.

This record is so sunny and sing-able that I don’t know how anyone could hate it. The Head and the Heart have mastered the art of positivity without treacle – their sentiments should come off as cheesy, but they never do. “People Need a Melody” ought to be so gooey that it collapses, but it soars. Opener “See You Through My Eyes” is exactly what you think it will be – singer Jonathan Russell wishing a loved one could see the beauty he does – but the band makes it work. There’s an organic quality to what they do – pianos, acoustic guitars, down-home harmonies – and this underpins all of their emotional moments, making them click.

I’m still not sure that something like “Honeybee” should work as well as it does, but it does. There are a lot of electronic drum patterns on this record, but somehow they don’t detract from the down-to-earth feel. Even a song called “Running Through Hell” is joyous – it’s simple, and it has a War on Drugs feel, but I like it way more than the National’s attempts at the same kind of thing. Hell, this is a band that ends their record by saying, out loud, “I believe in the glory of music,” and it doesn’t make me gag. It makes me smile.

Living Mirage is another winner from a band that doesn’t get as much attention as I think they should. Absolutely no one has been waiting for my thoughts on this one, which paradoxically makes me much more eager to share them. This is the strange headspace I am living in now, as I try to make this weekly labor of love less labor and more love.

Next week, I may or may not take the week off for my 45th birthday. When I return, though, I’ll talk about the strange and splendid new records from Esperanza Spalding and Brad Mehldau. Follow Tuesday Morning 3 A.M. on Facebook at www.facebook.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

Pre-game

I’m writing this from O’Hare International Airport, where I plan to make use of the “international” part of the name. I’m waiting for my flight to Montreal, where I will experience my second Marillion Weekend.

The last time I attended a Weekend was in 2015, and it was one of the best concert-going experiences of my life. Even aside from the music, which I know is divisive (although I am not sure why), a Marillion show is unlike any other, and a Marillion Weekend even more amazing. Over more than 40 years this band has cultivated a fanbase like no other, and to be in a room with them as band and audience feed off of the reciprocal love for one another is an incredible thing. You really have to be there to understand it.

And I will be there. The fans are one reason, but I love this band the way I love very few others. I have tried and failed for decades to explain why at this point. All I know is that the particular combination of things that they do hits my soul in exactly the right way. Yeah, there are all kinds of intellectual reasons why I consider them one of the best bands in the world. They’re without genre, for instance, equally at home with three-minute pop tunes and 20-minute epics and dabbling in just about everything in between, and their musical chops are without peer.

But honestly, none of that explains it. None of that explains why I am planning to board a plane in a couple hours and fly to another country, shacking up with people I have only met once, just to hear them play. I can’t explain it. This thing they do, it just works for me. This weekend I will get to hear them play some of my favorites, from “Ocean Cloud” to “This Strange Engine” to “This Is the 21st Century” to all of Essence, the first disc of their wonderful Happiness is the Road album. I know the contours of this music inside and out, and I am still jumping out of my skin with excitement.

They’re Marillion, and I’m a fan, and I get to hear them three times this weekend in the company of fellow fans. For me, that’s magic. I’m so ready.

Friday night

There is just no explaining the vibe of a Marillion Weekend, but I’m gonna try.

Montreal is a gorgeous city, its old-stone buildings and streets very reminiscent of the parts of France I have been lucky to see. Everyone speaks French and English, but French is preferred. There are dozens of little cafes and shops, and winding little avenues that promise hidden adventures. And this weekend, there are Marillion fans everywhere. It’s like slipping into an alternate universe in which the obscure band I  love is suddenly a household name.

I’m staying this time at a first-floor home one of my traveling companions found on AirBnB, and it feels like an authentic Montreal experience. I mentioned this above, but I’m staying with two people I have only ever met once, at a previous Marillion Weekend, and one person I met just today. This is the kind of instant camaraderie that I have rarely felt with the fans of any band. There’s an immediate connection with fellow Marillion fans, like we’re sharing a secret. That feeling is a rare one, and usually only happens in small doses, but this weekend is like swimming in it.

In defiance of Jeremy Piven’s advice, wearing the shirt of the band you’re going to see is encouraged, so that fans can find one another. One of my compatriots tonight wore an original shirt from the 1981 tour, which is pretty amazing, but I also saw a veritable sea of shirts from previous Weekends and the 2016 North American tour. Again, I have to emphasize how surreal this is, to see thousands of people proudly showing off their devotion to a band I have loved in a lonely way for decades. We ate in a corner bar before the show and met probably a dozen fellow fans, just randomly.

L’Olympia is a lovely theater, with a balcony and a tiered floor to make it easier for everyone to see. I will not be able to adequately describe the vibe of love in the room, reflected from band to audience and back, but it’s something to be a part of. Tonight’s opening band was District 97 from Chicago, and I had a few good laughs about the fact that I traveled to another country to see a band from my neighborhood. (They were fine, but maybe not for this audience. They have all the pieces, but I wasn’t a fan of what they built with them.)

OK, so here is what you need to know to understand the music choices for this Marillion Weekend. The band used to have a singer called Fish, but he left in 1988. The “new guy,” Steve Hogarth, joined the band in 1989, which means this year is his 30th anniversary at the helm. So this weekend is basically a guided tour-slash-retrospective of his three decades with the band. Tonight’s show drew from their first four albums with H, as he is known, spanning 1989 to 1995. I knew this going in, because the setlists for other 2019 Weekends had been posted online, but it was fun to be with people who didn’t know, and were pleasantly surprised.

Early H-era Marillion tended to be a little more straightforward, a little more prog-pop, a little more synth-driven than the current stuff. It’s a sound I think of as classic, but some might consider dated. The band faithfully reproduced it tonight, beginning with the long and glorious keyboard intro to “The King of Sunset Town,” which kicks off Seasons End, the first Hogarth-led Marillion album. The soaring melodies and even more soaring lead guitar parts are hallmarks of this era, and I can’t get enough of them.

Tonight I got to see so many older tunes I had never seen live. “The Bell in the Sea” remains incredible, especially the pirate-shanty guitar melodies. Hogarth brought out the MIDI gloves for “The Uninvited Guest,” which was a treat. They played almost all of Holidays in Eden, their most accessible record, including the rarely-performed title track. That album is full of guitar-heavy pop-rock songs which went down like candy. Being part of an audience that not only knows “Cover My Eyes” but sings every word of it is an amazing thing.

Highlights? So many. The snippet of “Montreal” the band played early was one, certainly. I knew we would get this song at some point this weekend, as it has become a staple here, and joining in with the crowd on the line “welcome back to Montreal” was joyous. “Dry Land” was wonderful. Hogarth still sings the living hell out of it. The suite from 1994’s Brave, still one of their most complex and dark records, was phenomenal, especially the beautiful title track, which I had never heard live. And the encore consisted of three upbeat songs from 1995’s Afraid of Sunlight, including “Cannibal Surf Babe,” which was an absolute delight.

The vibe, though. It was the vibe that made this special, and that’s something I have never really experienced anywhere else. This weekend was already worth the money and time, and there are two nights to go. I know what’s coming – I can’t stop myself from peeking at setlists – and I am so very excited. Now, to sleep!

Saturday night

The second day of our tour through the music of Steve Hogarth began with the music of Fish.

As I mentioned above, Marillion’s original singer – a tall, brooding Scotsman named Derek Dick who goes by the moniker Fish – left the band in 1988. Hogarth does occasionally sing songs from the Fish era (four albums dating from 1983 to 1987), but with three decades of extraordinary material with the band, he has no need to rely on the older work. But the fans still love it.

Enter Scripted, a Fish-era tribute band from Montreal, who performed a wonderful two-hour set of the early stuff at a pub named Brutopia this afternoon. Brutopia is one of the strangest pubs I have been in, in terms of layout – there’s a stage that is not visible to about 2/3 of the venue, including an upstairs area that overlooks only part of the performance space. This place fills up pretty quickly, so I was preparing to merely hear Scripted, but as it turns out one of my traveling companions scored us a table right next to the stage. It was an extraordinary bit of luck that turned a pre-concert lark into an unforgettable musical moment.

I’m the guy who loves every era of Marillion, so hearing the Fish-era stuff is always a treat for me, especially since the opportunity to see it live is rare. Scripted is a really good band, and singer Patrick Turcotte puts everything he has into these performances. It was incredible to see him up so close, and to be part of a massive, roiling crowd that knew every word and shouted them along. This never happens – I never get to be part of something like this, with so many people who love the same obscure thing I do, screaming and dancing and going insane. I honestly thought the floor of the bar would buckle under our joyous cacophony. Being right in the middle of it for “Market Square Heroes” and “Incommunicado” is an experience I will never forget.

Of course, that was only act one. Marillion proper gave us an epic set of music tonight, spanning their middle period with Hogarth, from 1997 to 2003. They took from four albums again – This Strange Engine, Dotcom, Anoraknophobia and the amazing Marbles – and mixed up the setlist rather than guiding us through a series of suites. I definitely think it was the right way to go. This set lasted two and a half hours, and a full hour of it was given over to four lengthy songs, interspersed throughout. The ebb and flow was magnificent. They opened with the 15-minute “Interior Lulu,” a song I’d never heard them play, and it set the tone wonderfully.

Honestly, I have never heard this band sound better than they did tonight. I’m still buzzing from being in a room with thousands of people who love this stuff the way I do. We stood right in front of guitarist Steve Rothery while he played some of his best soaring lines – he does them the same way every time, but he puts so much feeling into them that they feel like his first forays. Hogarth took “One Fine Day” to a new level, and the whole band killed it on “An Accidental Man.” And then there was “Ocean Cloud,” my favorite Marillion song. Being part of the five-minute ovation for this number was something special. “Ocean Cloud” is 18 minutes long, and this whole crowd was just INTO IT, every second of it, and they applauded like the band had just played all of their wedding songs. It was soul-lifting.

The encores felt like they were chosen for me – “Estonia,” a song I want played at my funeral, and the incredible “This Is the 21st Century,” followed by a full-on emotional performance of the 15-minute “This Strange Engine.” I could not have asked for better. Seeing Rothery play THAT solo in “Engine” was, as usual, astonishing, and Hogarth put so much of himself into the finale of the song that I thought he would burst. The vibe was even better tonight than it was last night – you could almost literally see the love being passed back and forth between band and crowd, and I was right there in it. Unforgettable.

Tonight’s opening act was Rothery’s daughter, Jennifer, playing songs from an EP she has just released under the name Sylf. Strong, moody songs delivered with a powerful, melodious voice. A really terrific lead-in for one of the best nights of music I have ever treated myself to. And I get to do this again tomorrow. Very much looking forward to wrapping up this journey with the late-period work, but in no way am I looking forward to all of this being over.

Sunday night

It rained here in Montreal today while we were waiting in line at L’Olympia. The experience of thousands of us shivering in the downpour while smiling and getting to know each other sort of summed up this weird third day for me. The setlist was my least favorite of the weekend, but the real Marillion weekend was the friends we made along the way. Or something like that.

And I definitely made new friends this weekend. One of the best things about these get-togethers is that our shared love for a band few others know makes for a ready-made conversation starter. I heard stories from so many people about the various ways they got into this music, from old veterans to newbies. In the rainy line we met a woman who lives in Montreal but had never heard of the band before a few weeks ago. In the venue we met two people from Massachusetts, my old stomping grounds, who had been following the band for years and years.

I think every fan has a favorite era, and the way the songs were organized this weekend felt like an attempt to argue for the strengths of each of those eras. Tonight we got the late-period work, from the band’s last four records: 2007’s Somewhere Else, 2008’s Happiness is the Road, 2012’s Sounds That Can’t Be Made and 2016’s Fuck Everyone and Run. I love all of these records, and if I were to create a setlist that honored them, it would feel very different to the one we got tonight.

That was the slight downfall of night three for me: the band chose to eschew a lot of crowd-pleasers (like “Sounds That Can’t Be Made” or “The Leavers”) in favor of a more downbeat set. It was still great, but it never really approached the greatness of the previous two nights. It didn’t successfully argue for its era like I think it should have. I enjoyed what we got, certainly, and would put tonight’s performance up against 90% of the shows I have seen in my life. But in comparison to the first two nights, it was a bit of a comedown.

I should mention first that there was no opening act today. Instead the band took the stage with their manager, the amazing Lucy Jordache, to answer fan questions. That was a lot of fun. They are genuinely charming and humble folks, and their bond is obvious. Hogarth told a hilarious story about bassist Pete Trewavas’ ill-fated attempt to learn the ukulele, and Lucy brought a few fans on stage to have their photos taken with the group. I enjoyed this semi-intimate peek at the band as people.

I also knew going in that about an hour of this show would be taken up by a full performance of an imperfect yet beautiful and meditative album called Essence. It’s the first half of the Happiness is the Road double record, and long stretches of it are quiet and patient. It’s an album about being lost and finding peace within yourself, and while it never seems to be anyone’s favorite Marillion album, I have always loved it. I expected it to be a transporting live experience, and it wasn’t quite that, though the more joyous second half really worked. The crashing first chords of “Woke Up” brought us out of the quiet with a burst of energy, and the finale, the ten-minute “Happiness is the Road,” had the crowd singing with gusto. What a great moment to be part of.

After that more sedate record I think I expected the band to let it rip, given the coiled-up excitement of a last night at a Marillion Weekend. They didn’t quite do that – “Whatever is Wrong With You” went down very well, but they stuck with some more thoughtful pieces like “Invisible Ink” and “Somewhere Else” when the crowd really wanted to dance. They ended the set proper with a long, slow, sad epic called “The Sky Above the Rain,” and at that point the disconnect between what we wanted and what we were getting felt strong in the room.

But the encores made up for everything. The band found their fire and ripped through a few favorites, including their cover of “Toxic” (which I still maintain is one of the best pop songs of the last 20 years) and the only Fish-era song to see an airing, “Slainte Mhath.” It was so much fun being near the front of that crowd for that song in particular – it has energized and connected these people for more than 30 years. The band showered us in confetti during closer “All One Tonight,” and that was magical.

And then it was over. Afterward hundreds of us stood on a floor covered in bits of colored paper and reminisced about what we’d seen, not wanting this weekend to end. But we’ll take these new friendships and lovely memories with us as we board our separate planes tomorrow. (As a quick side note, 28 countries were represented at this weekend. 28 countries!) Marillion is a band unlike any other, and its fanbase is unique as well. Being a part of it for the last three nights has been amazing. Thank you to everyone I shared this with. Let’s do it again in two years.

Next week, who knows? Follow Tuesday Morning 3 A.M. on Facebook at www.facebook.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

I had a conversation today about the fact that some of my favorite albums grew from turmoil within the bands that created them.

The most obvious example, of course, is Rumours, in which the members of Fleetwood Mac aired dirty laundry about each other to some of their most indelible grooves. One of my favorites is Keane’s Under the Iron Sea, which is basically a suite of angry letters from pianist Tim Rice-Oxley to singer Tom Chaplin, which Chaplin then had to sing.

And of course, there is the 2013 self-titled record from the Civil Wars. The duo of Joy Williams and John Paul White announced their breakup almost simultaneously with the release of this album, and people pored over it for clues to their abrupt separation. People wondered if the two of them, both married to other people, were secretly a couple, and whether the darker emotions on their breakup record were drawn from real life. It was like the indie-folk equivalent of reality TV.

Usually I don’t care about this sort of thing, and even in this case, I don’t care very much. But it is tempting to consider Williams and White in parallel, and question whether the songs on their new solo albums, released within weeks of each other, touch on the feelings that led to the end of the Civil Wars. This honestly is not particularly fruitful – it’s speculating about people’s lives, and about stories we may never know, nor have any right to know. But some lingering questions are unavoidable.

But I also think this does both of them a disservice. White and Williams were both accomplished songwriters before they formed a band, and they’re still working that trade now. Both of their new albums are lovely things that clearly were labored over, and should be considered on their own merits. It’s an easy thing to talk about them together, and to wonder if, for example, White’s “Yesterday’s Love” is about Williams, but let’s not do that. Let’s take them one at a time, as the singer-songwriter efforts they are, because they are both very much worth hearing.

White’s album is called The Hurting Kind, and its vintage-looking cover perfectly sets expectations for the music within. This is like a Roy Orbison record, with some classic country balladry enhanced by rich strings. White’s music has always been influenced by this old-timey material, but this is the first time he’s taken the full plunge. “Heart Like a Kite” could easily be a Hank Williams ballad, as could the aforementioned “Yesterday’s Love.” There’s a healthy helping of pedal steel and those twangy electric guitars over loping strums, and White’s clear, strong voice.

I’d put “I Wish I Could Write You a Song” up against the best of his work. This one is full Roy Orbison, and I could honestly hear Roy singing this piece. The chorus soars: “A melody with harmony, soft and sweet, that sounds like what it feels like when you dance with me…” This one will stick with you. On the other end of the spectrum, though just as terrific, is “The Long Way Home,” a dark and strummy rocker that could find a home on country radio.

I don’t know if that’s his aim, though. The Hurting Kind eschews pop country for traditional sounds, as on the sad and pretty “This Isn’t Gonna End Well,” which features a dynamite vocal from Lee Ann Womack. (Speaking of someone immersed in traditional country.) The 6/8 shuffle of “You Lost Me” is pure George Jones. Closer “My Dreams Have All Come True” is in the same time signature, but is totally Roy, with its floating, gorgeous falsetto. This isn’t an album that panders in any way to modern audiences. It’s a celebration of White’s ability to write new songs that sound timeless.

People certainly accused Williams of pandering last time out. 2015’s Venus was a striking piece of work, incorporating electronic elements to bolster her folksy tunes. And there were some corkers on there, particularly “Woman (Oh Mama),” an invigorating feminist anthem. Her new one, Front Porch, is in many ways the musical opposite of Venus – it’s a quiet country-folk record that feels organic from first note to last, and emphasizes her glorious voice. If you like Sara Watkins’ softer material, you will like this.

The subject matter here doesn’t need a lot of speculation: Williams recently split with her husband of 15 years, and many songs on Front Porch directly reference this. “When Does a Heart Move On” is a lament for a broken relationship, and for the strength to move forward. “All I Need” is about finding solace in being alone: “I may not have everything I want, but I’ve got all I need.” “The Trouble With Wanting” is about being drawn to someone even though it’s clearly not going to work. That song has some absolutely breathtaking harmonies from Kenneth Pattengale of the Milk Carton Kids.

This whole album is beautiful, and I hope it catches the ears of people who like, for example, Sarah Jarosz. The instrumentation is sparse – the sweet “No Place Like You” is just Williams and an acoustic guitar – which shines a spotlight on the songwriting, and Williams has stepped up with some stunners. I’m a big fan of “When Creation Was Young,” a new twist on the old “I’ve been loving you forever” trope, and “Preacher’s Daughter” is a pretty tribute to Williams’ father.

And I love that she chose to end this heartache of a record with something sweet and optimistic. The brief “Look How Far We’ve Come” is a ray of sunshine right at the end, a song that sounds a hundred years old but is born from a contemporary belief that things will get better. It leaves me with a smile, and even through all the pain on this record that smile is what has lingered the longest. Front Porch is a superb little record, and it deserves to catapult Joy Williams into the next level of her solo career.

Hell, both of these records are swell, and proof that the Civil Wars may be over, but Williams and White haven’t stopped making tremendous music that deserves our attention. I have no idea whether any lingering feelings about their collaboration made their way into the corners of these tunes, and honestly, it doesn’t matter. Both White and Williams are strong songwriters who deserve success on their own terms, and their names should be as well-known as that of their former band.

Next week I will be in Montreal for the 2019 Marillion Weekend. I plan to keep a diary of each night’s show and bore you to tears with it next Tuesday. After that it’s back to your regularly scheduled review column with the National, the Head and the Heart, Eperanza Spalding and Lizzo, to name a few. Follow Tuesday Morning 3 A.M. on Facebook atwww.facebook.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

As I get older, time seems to be speeding up.

In about a month, I will be 45 years old, and I can’t tell you where the last ten or so of those years went. They passed in a blur. I know I lived each day, hour by hour, but looking back those years feel like one of those montages in ‘80s movies, where months of training for some athletic event/military action zip by in minutes. We’re almost halfway through 2019, and I don’t know what happened. It was January, then I blinked, now it’s May. My nephews, who were born only weeks ago, have both had birthdays. They are seven and five now. Blink.

The bright side of this phenomenon is that it makes waiting for pop cultural events a lot easier. I know the seven months between now and the next Star Wars movie will pass like nothing, for instance. The Good Place will not return to our screens until the fall, and Doctor Who is off the air until 2020, but I know that I won’t even feel all that time go by. Next weekend I am heading to Montreal to experience my second Marillion weekend, and it feels like only a few weeks ago when I experienced my first, in 2015.

All that to say that we waited six years for the new Vampire Weekend, but I certainly didn’t feel those years. I realize that is a long time, and if you’d asked me anytime in those six years if I was anticipating a new VW record, I would have said yes. But now it’s here, and the wait for it doesn’t seem all that long to me. I really enjoyed their last one, Modern Vampires of the City, and have been worrying a bit about this new one – the band is entirely Ezra Koenig’s now, after co-conspirator Rostam Batmanglij made his exit in 2016.

But now that I am listening to the breezy, well-crafted Father of the Bride, Koenig’s first foray steering the Vampire Weekend ship, all that worry was for nothing. Koenig has turned in a varied, unfailingly interesting ride here, generously padded out with 18 songs yet still coming in at under an hour. I probably should have expected this, but Rostam’s absence has led to a more spacious, organic Vampire Weekend – there are definitely still keyboards and samples, but they are fewer and more subtle.

The focus here is on straightforward, catchy tunes. There’s nothing as tricky as the multiple time shifts of “Bryn,” for instance – the songs Koenig has written here are more basic, with some classic country influences – but the album as a whole takes you enough places that it’s never boring. These songs are all fairly short – the longest, “Harmony Hall,” just breaks five minutes, and several stay south of two – and the effect is like listening to a suite that keeps changing. The production is remarkably varied, too, from the Patsy Cline-style crooning of opener “Hold You Now” to the Eels-like electronic patchwork of “How Long.”

Some of that diverse sound can be attributed to Koenig’s collaborators here, including Dave Macklovitch of electro-funkers Chromeo on several songs, and Danielle Haim, who provides lead vocals on three tracks. This whole record has a come-in-and-let’s-try-this feel to it, but the finished product doesn’t feel ramshackle or pieced together. It’s more of an appealing looseness – a song like “Married in a Gold Rush” has the feeling of having been written and recorded in an afternoon, and its segue into the more carefully crafted “My Mistake” is seamless.

As you can maybe tell by some of the song titles, while this album is bright and sunny musically, it’s lyrics are darker and full of loss. The last verse of “Harmony Hall” sums up a lot of this record: “Anger wants a voice, voices wanna sing, singers harmonize ‘til you can’t hear anything, I thought that I was free from all that questioning, but every time a problem ends another one begins.” Father of the Bride is largely about those questions and problems, and when the lyrics and music match up, as on the joyous “We Belong Together,” it feels surprisingly well earned.

I wasn’t sure what to expect from Father of the Bride, but Koenig came through. This is a truly swell record, from start to finish. It’s a new model Vampire Weekend, less steeped in African guitar and percussion (although that is certainly present – check out the elastic “Sunflower” and “Flower Moon”) and more in American pop, but this new VW is just as enjoyable as they’ve ever been. If it took six years to land on this approach and these songs, they were six years well spent.

It’s been an even longer wait for a new Unwed Sailor album, but far fewer people have been counting the days for that one. As one of those people, though, I have to say I’ve been anticipating this one more than the Vampire Weekend, partially because I had no doubt it would be awesome.

And it is. Heavy Age is the first new long-player from this instrumental outfit since 2008, and in contrast to stylistic detours like The Marionette and the Music Box and The White Ox, this one hits like fire. Bassist Jonathan Ford is Unwed Sailor, but here he’s leading a quartet that includes a guitarist and two drummers, and the sound is as widescreen and pulsing as they have ever been.

I’m not even sure what to compare this to. Explosions in the Sky without a trace of metal? A wordless Cure in full rock mode? What I can tell you is that these are songs, not jams – they barrel forward with a remarkable sense of purpose, and they don’t waste a second. Something like “Moon Coin” has verses and a chorus, even though there are no vocals – Dave Swatzell’s guitar swirls and soars as the band surges forward and draws back around him. (This is a song with both drummers playing, one in each speaker, and the effect is pretty great.)

There are quieter pieces, like the fragile, gorgeous “Nova,” but mainly Heavy Age seeks to sculpt with energy, and it succeeds brilliantly. For those who have never heard Unwed Sailor, this is a great record to start with. For those who, like me, have been waiting for their return, it’s a mighty and glorious one. Hear their stuff and buy it here: https://unwedsailor.bandcamp.com.

Next week, the two members of the Civil Wars return with solo records. Follow Tuesday Morning 3 A.M. on Facebook at www.facebook.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.