Intensiv karg instrumentiertes, dennoch oder gerade deswegen in allen Gefühls-Tiefen wühlendes und –Farben schillerndes Singer-Songwriter-Folk-Album, das sich mit jedem Hören in meinem Plattenregal näher an die Bonnie Prince Billy-Höhen heranarbeitet. Obwohl der Amerikaner mit dem 2009er 16-Song-Werk sein bereits drittes Album vorlegt, ist sein Werk für mich Neuland, aber eines, in dem ich mich sofort zu Hause fühle. Mit rauh-rauchiger, unter die Haut gehender Stimme und als angenehm-versierter Spieler auf Banjo, Gitarre, Pian und Wurlitzer wäre sich Bauer auch selbst genug, um seine in uralter Tradition stehenden, melancholisch-schimmernden Balladen über gescheiterte Beziehungen, Depression und Tod nachhaltig in unserem Herz und Hirn zu verankern. Aber gezielt gesetzte Gastglanzlichter auf Fiddle (Alisa Rose, Karl Meyer), Pedal Steel (Chad King, Greg McCullen), Viola, Akkordeon, Kontrabass, Trompete, vor allem auch die omnipräsenten wundervollen weiblichen Duettstimmen von Angel Deradoorian, Madelyn Burgess, Mariee Sioux und Alela Diane machen diese Balladen-Sammlung zu einem ganz besonderen Genuß. Und auch wenn sämtliche Songs klingen, als stammten sie aus jahrhundertealten Sammlungen: Nur Old Kimball ist ein echtes Traditional, alle anderen waidwunden Weisen über Liebe, Schmerz und Tod sind ganz und gar Matt Bauer. Dem Oldham-Verehrer besonders, allen anderen aber ebenso mit Wucht ans Herz gelegt.

(Glitterhouse)

The cover art of The Island Moved in the Storm shows folksinger Matt Bauer wading in shallow water and struggling to support the body of a young woman dressed in what appears to be a wet white nightgown. He looks weary and beaten, barely able to support himself, much less the woman in his arms. Is she living or dead? Hard to know. It's a provocative photo, open to many interpretations. That wasted, somnolent vibe carries over to the music on the album, a suite of songs dealing with depression, dysfunctional relationships, and violent death. The murder ballad was once a staple of American folklore; cautionary tales about the perils of the modern world were commonly sung around after-dinner fireplaces in days gone by, perhaps the folkloric equivalent of Grand Theft Auto. Bauer's songs are based loosely on a newspaper clipping he recalls from his youth. A dead young woman was found wrapped in a canvas tarp on a road near Eagle Creek. How she came to be there and the circumstances of her death were never discovered. Bauer hangs his tunes on this incident and sings them with minimal guitar and banjo accompaniment, occasionally augmented by quiet organ, woodwinds, pedal steel, or almost subliminal backing vocals. Mostly it's just Bauer, singing in a barely audible whisper that makes these stygian visions all the more telling. Sparse banjo and electric bass notes give "Sheltering Dark," an autumnal song about the silent moments between life and death, day and night, a stark beauty. Funereal horns set up "Rose and Vine," a mysterious tune that brings to mind the old ballad "The Erlking." It's a desperate ride under slate-gray winter skies to escape from god knows what unnamed and unnameable demons. "Florida Rain" addresses the transitory nature of existence with sparse banjo and an affecting vocal from Bauer. "You've been through some hell in your time, and more to come, oh more to come," he sings in a voice full of resignation and regret. "Don't Let Me Out" speaks of murder, suicide, unquiet graves, and the ghosts, real and imagined, that haunt everyday life. "(Corolla) The One You Love," a country lament graced by a weeping pedal steel guitar, closes the album with a final despondent message. It could be a suicide note, or merely another deliberation on the innate sadness of life, but it echoes the sentiment of lonely lovers everywhere: "What's the good of love when the one you love is gone?"

(by j. poet, All Music Guide)