— Yatin Satish
It’s a simple life.
Gregory Alan Isakov is a farmer, and he’s got a nice little patch of land – about three-quarters of an acre – in beautiful Boulder County, Colorado, where he sows his produce. The man is extremely satisfied with everything he grows – Turnips; Carrots; Beets. Mostly quick-turning crops. All arranged in nice, neat little rows. Now and again, some friendly companions of his amble by. Fuzzy little sheep – “Super cute lawn mowers”, Gregory calls them. They’re good friends of his – “very chill”. They seem happy in their little barn, and so does Gregory, in his for Gregory’s house is a much bigger, renovated barn – modified by himself, with the help of a couple of close friends. It’s a rather unique place to live. A sign on a guest room door reads: “If you like the smell of sheep poop, leave door open.”
The inside of the renovated barn is very, very nice. A part of it is a studio apartment, with windows that face south, west, and east – perfect for checking on the gardens and the sheep. There’s a communal shop space, a laundry area and a workshop, along with a guest room which he uses for drying and cleaning produce. In addition to all this (and somewhat importantly), Gregory’s also got a little recording studio – with modified interior walls for soundproofing. This little room is where he takes his breaks, and mingles with and romances his one great hobby – music. It’s a hobby that Gregory is rather good at.
He’s been writing Indie Folk music ever since 2003 and has been steadily gaining popularity and recognition since then. His most recent album, Evening Machines was nominated in 2019 for Best Folk Album. It’s been a climb that has been slow, steady, and deserved. In 2016 Gregory, along with his band, performed some of his older songs with the prestigious seventy-nine member Colorado Symphony Orchestra. Among the eleven songs which were eventually released in the resulting album (Gregory Alan Isakov with The Colorado Symphony Orchestra) is a gentle, acoustic number called The Stable Song – rife with themes of tender remembrance and pastoral bliss.
It happens to be a song I adore. It also happens to be a song I’d like to write about.
The Stable Song was initially released in Isakov’s first “proper” full-length album (That Sea, the Gambler) on the first day of 2007, and is one of his finest and most beloved compositions. Even though the original is an incredibly beautiful piece of music in its own right, and holds a special place in my heart (it being the first Gregory Alan Isakov song I ever listened to), I will here address the reimagined version of it, performed in 2016 with the added, expert backdrop of the brilliant Colorado Symphony Orchestra.
Orchestral recreations of songs can often be overdone, with needlessly embellished instrumentation and garish, bombastic accompaniments which all compete to be heard. Here, the orchestra is at its complementary finest – capable of bubbling along stealthily with delicate little chirps and burbles, and patient enough to wait in the wings until expressly invited by Isakov to join in on the merrymaking. The ensemble lets the song breathe – keeping a safe space from Isakov’s acoustic, yet never quite letting it walk alone on its journey through Isakov’s little snowglobe of a world.
And Oh what a simple, gorgeous, musical world! That little snowglobe is filled to the brim with mellow wonder, and I cannot help but look on as sensations and memories swirl impatiently around, waiting for me to jump in. Isakov’s world is lush with rich, beautiful musical foliage which rolls past the window as he leads you through it in his lightly-jangling musical caravan – that beautiful, gold-stringed acoustic of his.
There is this continuous sense of motion in Gregory’s songs (most beautifully seen in his Suitcase Full of Sparks and Saint Valentine), which is facilitated by his brilliant lyrics, but completed by the mesmerisingly circular rhythms and chord progressions he generates on his acoustic guitar. The undulating back-and-forth found in the perfect counter-play between Isakov’s acoustic and Steve Varney’s heavenly banjo is an absolute musical phenomenon. As perfectly-placed hammer-ons are exchanged between guitar and banjo, Isakov’s butter-smooth voice gently cuts through, delivering carefully thought-out lyrics which invoke images of bliss. A bliss both long-gone, and yet to come.
Remember when our songs were just like prayers
Like gospel hymns that you caught in the air?
Come down, come down sweet reverence
Unto my simple house and ring
And ring
“Remember.” Isakov sets the tone with his first word, in his recognition of the latent power that lies wrapped within it, especially when it comes to building a world. Pre-formed tastes, sounds, and sights spring to mind when the word “remember” is uttered in the right context, and the gently winding guitar-banjo combination, along with the exquisitely crafted first sentence, makes it rather hard for it to not be the right context. Slivers of imagery and remembrance surround this introduction, lying at the entrance like so many beautiful, welcoming flowers. Unearthing moments like these within his songs has led me to believe that the Gregory Alan Isakov Experience™ is brazenly incomplete without due attention being paid to his lyrics.
Isakov does not confine nostalgia to his first word, though. It is a central theme to the song, and pervades the utterance of every consequent word and the ring of every consequent instrument. Nostalgia becomes a potent tool in his forging of that oh-so-vital connection a song needs between its author and its intended recipient. Isakov is thus actively using elements of the listener’s world to build his own – in a beautiful, sensitive and delicate process. This makes the song a deeply personal experience to those who come to love it, for the interplay between the artist’s and the listener’s world is ever immediate. Isakov gently invites you to survey his world, as you find little trinkets and remembrances which you can call your own in its reassuring vastness.
In Isakov’s own words: “A good song takes you some place, [and] leaves you somewhere different. It makes you feel different. It’s an emotional lens.”
To me, The Stable Song will forever be a song of tranquil statement, one that will always, without fail, calm me and my frayed nerves. It is a song which emanates quiet, comforting, tinkling laughter, which echoes across the borders of the unknown and tames it, ever so temporarily. Uncertainty, anxiety and fear – those ever-discourteous miscreants – slink away, hurriedly burying themselves once more in that little box of Pandora’s.
For within the knitting of this song is an understated description of a certain type of life which speaks assurance. Do not ask me exactly what kind of life it is, however, because I do not know. But vague whispers of it will remind you of days and times long past. Of childhood, and of simpler times.
The life that Isakov directs to tender fruition in The Stable Song may never reveal itself to me. Not again. But I taste of it in the six minutes of immersion I am granted within its silky, golden embrace. I see sounds, hear scents, and feel sights. That first guitar hammer-on sparks it all – fragrant scented candles, which, as the song progresses, light themselves, and waft their sweet, serene aroma through the reaches of my pliable mind. A redolent mist, that encircles me and mine, and draws ever closer and closer. It curls, wisp-like.
And I am enveloped. Within a cloud of stability. Within a shroud of calm, as light as lightness itself. Doubt vanishes under the wave-like, steady auspice of The Stable Song’s rhythmic, familiar charm.
And there is nothing left to do but watch.
And watch.
Come to me, clear and cold
On some sea
Watch the world spin in waves
Mad machine
It’s a simple life.
Design by Rohit G
Edited by Madhumita R
Article 19 