On Far Caspian’s third record, Joel Johnston arrives at that muted but pleasant place: adult contentment.
Irish musician Joel Johnston saw critical acclaim for his debut Ways To Get Out and 2023’s The Last Remaining Light; in retrospect, he was struggling through them with his mental health, with his Crohn’s disease and with an inner critic that grew with his popularity. However, even the album cover of his new record Autofiction reflects Johnston’s feeling that he’s finally reached clear blue skies.
Lyrics reflect Johnston’s healing after Crohn’s treatment, settling into a happy partnership and the releasing of the neurosis of his twenties (Johnston’s 31). He penned “A Drawing Of The Sun” at the starting line of that journey with the titular image standing in for Johnston as seeing others in a good place and taking comfort in the idea of wellness, even if not experiencing the real thing himself. The choice anecdote from the record comes on “An Outstretched Hand/Rain From Here to Kerry,” which recounts the time Johnston and his friends hiked halfway up the tallest mountain in Ireland, but were forced by a storm to turn around and drive eight hours home in the dark—but Johnston had a lovely time anyway. On “End” he sings “at the end of the day it will all fall apart,” precisely naming his new ethos, one of abdicating control and its accompanying anxieties in favor of presence within the moment in all its joys, disappointments and empty spaces.
Unfortunately, those lyrics are basically impossible to make out with them blanketed under a roaming hum that has the effect of breaking any too-forward sounds into a diffuse cloud. The production feels sparse, pared down in a number of tools that somehow overfills the space. Autofiction on speakers seems to make the air in the room thicker and heavier. Sound is muted, but all around you is precluding focused thought. Johnston’s vocal is certainly brought further up in the mix than on his previous works, but somehow all the instruments on Autofiction, voice included, feel sanded down and difficult to place, which does make for a blander listen than his past LPs. Reserved sound and a focus on growing into a well-adjusted adult? Welcome back, mumblecore!
When a clear effect does poke through, it’s the experimental folk here tending towards the sweet, with the title track sounding like the wistful end of a 90s romcom, or indie rock song structures drawing from the 90s as in the intro of “Whim” that’s a dead ringer for the Pixies’ “Debaser.” Those flavors ensure that the still, thick, muted world of Autofiction’s adult stability is after all a solidly sweet one.
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