Folk-rock band Widemouth began casually enough, with Mak Carnahan putting up a flyer looking for musicians at Northwestern University. Guitarist/singer/songwriter Jamie Eder answered, and the core of an act was in place, bolstered by drummer Lily Mitchell’s response (bassist Pat Pilch arrived before long). Musician-wanted flyers and dorm room sing-alongs are a standard part of college life, but they rarely lead to much of note. With their debut album No Gasoline, Widemouth look to be an exception, gliding into the wider world with lyricism and craft.
The album opens with “I Wish You Passed on a Little Anger”, a gentle duet that mixes nostalgia with a clear look at the present. It’s a fitting start for No Gasoline, which marks the band’s move into a new era. The casual nature of these songs reflects the relaxed background of a group that came together almost randomly on campus. Still, the precision of the compositions shows an act committed to serious refinement as they progress.
That movement takes a nice step forward with “Pinecone”, a somewhat ambiguous song about coming into adulthood and finding your voice. Strength can be found in the past, but the realization that “[m]y gift for going quiet / Is stretching into years” suggests an impending change that isn’t entirely unwelcome.
Transformation also comes musically. “Hotel Pool” brings an almost grungy guitar tone into the usually calm folk aesthetic. The band stops short of alternative rock, but Widemouth begin to show greater ability to play with dynamics, and it works well not just within the song but also in mixing up the feel of an album that risks sounding too similar throughout. They use their steadiness well—carefully crafted observations are likely to remain a songwriting strength—but allowing themselves to take some more risks serves them well. Carnahan’s singing in particular sounds more expressive here, and the touch of strain in her voice adds to the performance.
If Widemouth find comfort in a straightforward aesthetic (members bonded over their enjoyment of Big Thief, which comes through sonically), they don’t hold back emotionally. “Water” honors a mother figure who has passed away. Carnahan’s ability to turn “You can pull my shirt / Over my head / I can fold the laundry / Read the books you’ve read” into an understanding of how we matter is a significant epiphany, one, in this case, enhanced by the band’s self-control.
“No Gasoline” explores emotional revelation, echoing “Pinecone” with its concerns about silence. They sing, “I’m not sure I ever let you see me / I’ve got things I don’t say,” suggesting the challenges of self-revelation and self-assertion, an issue particularly applicable for a group coming of age, but one with a broad universality, too. Widemouth take stock, but they also seem to act on it, finding their voice in song and making these vulnerable expressions with controlled confidence. With its brains and polish, No Gasoline doesn’t feel like a debut album, but it does suggest more and better to come.