Pinegrove - Elsewhere

Pitchfork 75

It’s hard not to root for Pinegrove. Even before they raised more than $21,000 for Planned Parenthood and released Elsewhere—a lovable new live album whose proceeds are being donated to the Southern Poverty Law Center—the band seemed to be propelled entirely by positivity and goodwill. For a certain kind of listener, Pinegrove’s music will feel like a warm hug, cozy without being cloying, eliciting a rush of memories of drinking in furnished basements and driving aimlessly through quiet streets. Frontman Evan Stephens Hall’s voice is a strained, twangy yowl that wouldn’t have sounded out of place on ’90s alternative rock radio, and it’s a perfect vessel for communicating his vulnerable thoughts. “We were laughing and crying in awe at the size of the moon,” he recalls in one of the band’s most impassioned anthems. It’s a simple, near-precious thought that’s immediately elevated with a more sobering question: “Do you want to die?”

“Size of the Moon” is the penultimate track on Elsewhere, a 30-minute offering following a banner year of touring in support of their breakout debut, Cardinal. The eight songs on the collection are not reinventions: there’s no extended jamming, no gratuitous stage banter. But like the already-legendary video of Pinegrove’s AudioTree set last year, Elsewhere seems tailor-made for introducing new fans to the band. The recordings on Elsewhere are, in fact, a good deal more polished than the intentionally-messy Cardinal. Nandi Rose Plunkett, who also performs as Half Waif, glides through the album with a graceful shimmer, using her keyboard to fill in gaps that might have otherwise been accentuated with feedback squalls or background noise; it’s a crucial element in their toughening sound. On Elsewhere, all of Pinegrove’s songs feel bigger, tighter, and more controlled, without losing the edge that made them stand out in the first place.

More than anything, Elsewhere is a testament to just how good a live band Pinegrove has become. These are mostly flawless renditions of not-so-easy-to-replicate songs. Hall’s voice is weathered and raw, but it’s not careless: he knows exactly which lines to shout, which to whisper, which to leave out entirely and let the audience sing. The rest of the band is similarly proficient, evolving in subtle ways that build on on their various touchstones, from the American Football layered guitars in “Visiting” through rootsier territory in “Angelina” and “Aphasia.” In “Aphasia,” a lonesome slide guitar—a sound that hid in the background of Cardinal, suggesting its presence without asserting itself—comes to the forefront, highlighting the band’s ability to evolve into a modern, alt-country act.

In a closing rendition of “New Friends,” Hall’s voice even resembles a young Ryan Adams, before his days of breaking hearts, when he drank like a river. What the band does next will reveal where Elsewhere stands in their discography—a spirited appendix to a strong debut or a Wide Awake in America before a Joshua Tree. For now, it’s just another dose of good karma for a band who feels like an increasingly noble cause to support.