If High, Lonesome, and Then Some—which consists of nine laconic, subdued songs—sounds stripped of Todd Snider’s trademark humor and sharp storytelling, that could be because, according to the album’s press release, he wanted to sound like he’s “so high that people think [he] should speed up.” One would be forgiven, then, for wishing he’d eased up on the weed and further developed the album’s thematic ideas and overarching structure.
Opener “The Human Condition” relays truisms that sound more detached than profound: “I was born in the human condition, facing the great unknown…Have to wonder what we’re doing here together, even though I know I’m leaving here alone.” The songs that follow are more grounded, with “Unforgivable” relating a story about reluctantly indulging a talky stranger on a plane, and “Stoner Yodel #2” revolving around an unrequited crush. The sequencing situates the specifics within Snider’s larger worldview, but the actual content isn’t particularly compelling.
Snider’s lyrics are by and large fragmentary, forgoing details and often repeating phrases in place of a more substantial bridge or chorus. The most information we get about a broken relationship on “One, Four, Five Blues” is in the outro: “Right fightin’, gaslightin’…A dark night of my soul, a Maserati riddle wrapped around a telephone pole” is a poetic observation, but it lacks real insight. And “Unforgivable” is capped off with Snider repeating the title several times.
High, Lonesome, and Then Some isn’t without its affecting moments: Snider imbues “While We Still Have a Chance,” about a doomed attempt to invest a dying relationship, with a sense of hope. When he sings, “Don’t let the sun burn your sad water blue eyes, we don’t want to miss this dance,” he sounds like he’s looking back after the relationship has already crumbled.
The album’s minimal blues compositions match the muted energy of Snider’s vocals. Though a certain sonic homogeny might be the point, creating a holistic end-to-end listening experience, it’s the few moments in which the songs get into an inviting groove, as on the title track and closer “The Temptation to Exist,” that feel like flashes of true inspiration.
Snider circles back to his philosophical musings on “The Temptation to Exist,” concluding that the answer to life’s disappointments and travails is to just “live a little.” That’s a nice sentiment, but coming after such a spare set of songs, it feels a little flimsy. High, Lonesome, and Then Some is content to merely glide along the surface of its subject matter.
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