This Empty Northern Hemisphere

Most artists I've been listening to lately are wildly inconsistent. Lil Wayne, for example, uses auto-tune too much. About half of his songs are so inappropriate it makes me uncomfortable. Even though he's the best rapper alive, I have to fiddle with the skip-forward button too much when I play a Weezy album on my way to work. Likewise, Mumford and Sons is too fond of the soaring-crescendo chorus. The Avett Brothers and the Red Hot Chili Peppers should stick to slower, quiet songs: their party jams are obnoxious. James Brown can be repetitive. Kenny Rogers is funny, but a little bit goes a long way with the Gambler. I don't know of a Dylan album that I can listen to all the way through--there's always a few grating experimental tracks that set me on edge.

I think most talented musicians are hit-and-miss. It's why "greatest hits" albums are popular and b-sides are aptly named. This doesn't bother me. Bob Dylan is still a genius; Lil Wayne is still the greatest in the game.

That said, it was with a childlike mirth that I discovered Gregory Alan Isakov. Wikipedia tells me that Mr. Isakov was born in South Africa, grew up in Philadelphia, and now lives in Boulder, Colorado. Somewhere along the way, he discovered indie-folk music and learned to play it better than anyone. Happily, all of his songs (on his latest two albums, at least) are fantastic. He is the best artist I've heard in a long time, and he never, ever, lets up.

Pandora.com (God bless it) tuned me in to this brilliant new voice on the "Bon Iver" station. I liked the song I was listening to, and the artist had a funny name. I'm glad I was forced to write it down: I otherwise would have forgotten a name less unique than "Gregory Alan Isakov." The track I heard, "The Stable Song," sounded like a modern re-imagining of a hymn, as a church will sometimes do. The song sounded ancient and modern, holy and reprobate, haunting and comforting. Isakov has a lilting, airy voice that hovers over his simple chords and creates, slowly, a mood that captures the most honest things in life.

In online video interviews, Isakov comes across as self-depreciating and vaguely uncomfortable. When asked about his muse, Isakov shrugged and said "driving." As elusive as that is, it makes total sense to me. I've never seen this guy live, but I can tell that he's been on a lot of desolate Western highways in his time.

I have also been on lonely roads in Nevada, Montana, Colorado, Idaho . . . Perhaps this explains why I haven't skipped a track on any of Isakov's perfect albums this whole month.