ALBUM REVIEW: Across ‘About the Winter,’ Barbaro Weaves Big Messages From Small Details
Tom Williams

Minneapolis-based Barbaro mines life’s most intimate and seemingly mundane moments in an attempt to extrapolate larger lessons about life itself and the nature of our fragile existence. Songs like “The Lil Sweaters” and “Apples to Apples,” from their newest album, About the Winter, are illuminated by minutiae like red, swollen fingers; fleeting moments of physical intimacy; and leaving mugs of coffee in the attic.

About the Winter is described in press materials as a “coming-of-age” story. This is apparent on a song like “Apples to Apples,” which details a college dorm argument, but it’s more subtly evident throughout. A sense of characteristically adolescent wide-eyed wonder and curiosity animates some of the LP’s most compelling moments. On “One X One,” fiddle player and vocalist Rachel Calvert asks “If time’s so simple, how’s it so fickle and hazy?” The simplicity and plainspoken nature of the query suggest someone newly emerging from the fog of youthful innocence, learning to confront the starkest realities of this world.

The band’s lyrics depict growing thematic ambition and confidence, as does the leveling-up of their sound from their previous effort, 2020’s Dressed in Roses. Stepping off from their more straightforward bluegrass arrangements, they’ve now added sweeping strings, synths, and electric guitars. It’s a move that invites comparisons to some of indie-folk and folk-rock’s most compelling 21st century artists, Bon Iver and Bright Eyes’ Conor Oberst among them.

Across About the Winter, a lot of questions are asked without offering answers. The impact of this is a quietly growing sense of unease that draws contrasts to the reliably lovely soundscapes that the band creates. Testament to this is the LP’s obvious centerpiece, the 7-minute “Subpoena Colada.” The song begins modestly, with finger-picked banjos and evocative and sensory imagery (“Holding this green earth under your thumb”), but darker detours occur throughout. At times, the music dissipates almost entirely, as guitarist and vocalist Kyle Shelstad asks “could it be lost?”, his words delivered with weighty significance. The soundscape alternates between plucky banjo sections a la Buck Meek or Taylor Ashton and desolate string-led passages. The song’s progression, much like life’s, is ever-changing and unpredictable. Maybe our primary task, then, is to learn to roll with the punches and find value in the journey itself.

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