There is something to be said for music that doesn’t immediately tell you what it is. In a world of genre tags, carefully curated aesthetics and songs apparently designed to make perfect sense within the first fifteen seconds, it is rather nice to encounter an album that seems perfectly happy to wander off and see what happens. No map or flashing neon sign saying this is the important bit, just a collection of ideas allowed to develop at their own pace. And that, in a nutshell, is rather what The Free States are doing on Love & Death.

The project of American songwriter Shaun Lyons, now based in Athens, Greece, The Free States has always been difficult to squeeze into one particular musical box, and frankly, why would you want to? There are traces of rock, soul, alternative music, experimental rhythms and a healthy appreciation of melody, but attempting to reduce all of that to a convenient label would miss the point. Lyons is interested in songs first.

“Definite” is a particularly good example. Built around the wonderfully human problem of being indecisive at a crucial moment in a relationship, it moves in 7/4, which is not generally the time signature one reaches for when trying to make uncertainty sound comfortable. But it works. There is an ease here that makes the unusual rhythm feel natural, while the song itself manages to be thoughtful.

Then there is the opening track “Most of All,” apparently born at three in the morning while Lyons’s electric guitar was lying beside him with the amplifier still switched on. Which is probably proof that sometimes the best songwriting advice is simply to leave the equipment where it is and see what happens. The song has a lovely sense of longing running through it, while strings, a refrain and a guitar solo give it a little more space and help distinguish Love & Death from the more guitar driven album that came before it.

Elsewhere, “Man the Baddies” brings considerably more muscle to the proceedings. What began around thoughts of war, friends being conscripted and the complicated question of what it actually means to move forward. It is energetic, rhythmically unusual and probably the heaviest thing The Free States have recorded, but there is no neatly packaged political statement waiting at the end of it. Lyons is more interested in the uncomfortable business of making decisions, which is rather more interesting than having the songwriter hand you a conclusion and ask you to tick a box.

Lyons has talked about songwriting as something that needs to happen before consciousness starts getting in the way, and there is freedom in that approach.

There is a similar freedom in the way the album was made. Recorded largely in Athens, with drums captured in several different rooms and vocals recorded together in another, Love & Death is clearly more interested in capturing a good performance than in constructing some immaculate sonic monument. Lyons makes much of the music himself, working with trusted collaborators when required, and there is something appealingly old fashioned about that. You have an idea, you make the record, you listen to it and you decide whether it works. Revolutionary stuff apparently.

Love & Death is an album that can groove, can rock and it can become rhythmically peculiar, it can pull back and allow a melody to carry the weight and it can occassionally make you wonder where on earth Lyons is taking you before realising that you rather like the journey. The Free States have remembered that the scenic route is where the interesting stuff happens.

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