It takes a mindset shift to fully appreciate Fruit Bats’ new record, Baby Man. Eric D. Johnson reconnected with producer Thom Monahan for a sketchbook album, where everything was newly written and recorded for the record. In most cases, it is just Johnson and an acoustic guitar or piano, as he attempts to explore the outer limits of his vocal range. Many of the songs are intimate and beautiful. In contrast, others are forgettable, a result of the songwriting approach, or perhaps he’s no longer the artist we initially fell in love with, which can be a hard thing to reconcile.
Johnson makes no bones about what he’s trying to accomplish on Baby Man. This is an artist stripping away all adornments and coming to terms with their own voice, perhaps for the first time. He wrote the vocal lines first, which allowed the melody to be the primary focus. The writing came in a torrent, with Johnson sometimes completing two or three songs in a day (and the record in a week and a half), versus his previous approach, which sometimes took a year or two to finalize just one song.
Those hoping to experience Fruit Bats‘ full sound will be sorely disappointed. There is no clear standout, like “Waking Up in Los Angeles”, “A Lingering Love”, or “My Sweet Midwest”, even if the record still features a handful of compelling numbers. It’s hard to believe that this is the same guy who once rubbed shoulders with some of the biggest names in indie rock and played in seminal bands like Califone and the Shins. The immediacy of hooks is thrown out the window in favor of simple tenderness.
The straightforward strumming of “Let You People Down” conceals the stark nature of Johnson’s confessions, which reveal a desire to end things and ultimately prioritize others. It’s effective because Johnson is authentic and, most of all, honest with himself. “Creature from the Wild” contains all the qualities of an extended metaphor, but it’s really about Johnson’s beloved dog. He imagines the pet’s previous life before adoption, running down the streets of Mexico and living behind a motel with a thorn in its paw and heartworm. We are invited to learn about this one-of-a-kind relationship with a pet that helped save him and his family (and clearly the other way around).
Throughout the record, Johnson’s vocal intonations work wonders. This strength is showcased in “Stuck in My Head Again”, which shifts from his signature laid-back delivery when speaking about a tall glass of wine to intense phrasing at other key moments. The track includes revelations, such as “Yeah, I’ve been poor and now I’m less poor is all / Probably be poor again someday.” Simple song structures allow listeners to become absorbed in his vocals. In “Baby Man”, sophisticated lines of poetry breeze across a few notes: “I’d never even left the harbor / From the wilds of Ann Arbor, Michigan.” The obvious takeaway is that sometimes less is more.
It’s not surprising that Johnson described his process for this record as a minimalist-maximalist approach. Even with fewer tracks comprising each song, his artistry was at its most vibrant. For the most part, the delivery works, but there are times when Johnson is stretched to the farthest reaches of his sound. The “just a man and his piano” thing can get tedious when he’s playing crooner, as on “Two Thousand Four”, “First Girl I Loved”, and “Year of the Crow”. Johnson is a special talent, but he’s no Elton John.
As impressive as Johnson is as a solo artist, Baby Man runs the risk of being a little too even. Even a sparse, contemplative record could use the occasional shot in the arm. One has to be in the proper context to fully engage, maybe rocking on a porch swing or having drinks with hors d’oeuvres before dinner. At times, when the mood hits just right, it will feel like the perfect record. For the most part, Baby Man will be relegated to outlier status in Fruit Bats’ catalog, an LP to dust off for nothing less than the perfect occasion.