Greg Freeman’s third full-length album marks the moment the Chicago-based singer-songwriter steps into his own unique space in indie rock. Where earlier releases gleamed with potential, All Set the Bone is the work of an artist suddenly writing at the speed of his own nerves—urgent, frantic, and riveting. As with much Midwestern songwriting, Freeman grapples with the turmoil of adulthood in a landscape shaped by economic strain, spiritual fatigue, and the quiet humiliations of staying afloat. Yet his cracked, panicked vocal delivery mirrors such desperation with a hint of unwellness, as though he’s been pushed past his limit by conformity.
The album’s loosely orchestrated compositions owe much to The Paper Chase frontman John Congleton, whose darker sonic palette sharpens Freeman’s instincts. Distortion thickens the guitars, lending the arrangements a free-falling edge suited to the record’s existential despair. Under Congleton’s direction, Freeman’s bar-rock origins mutate into something closer to chamber pop or prog, full of hairpin turns, surging dynamics, and songs that feel like they might combust or collapse at any moment.
Yet amid the din, Freeman’s writing glows: similes that detonate, one-liners that summarize entire lives, and a sense of place so vivid it feels lived-in. All Set the Bone is a bruising, breathless triumph—an artist arriving with nothing left to lose.
The opening track, “Cahokia,” draws parallels between the slow erosion of the ancient Mississippian civilization and a modern world frayed at the seams. Lines like “These are the days of one thing after another” evoke the overwhelming accumulation of crises, echoing the environmental and social pressures associated with Cahokia’s decline. Even the opening command—“Time to join the world you f****d up”—frames modern life as an inheritance of infrastructural fallout.
“Loser’s Prize” captures the feeling of living in a world drained of authenticity, where every gesture feels pre-judged and every thought is “appraised before they’re had.” Freeman’s voice moves through a culture of sameness—“this world all looks alike”—while the song’s self-reflexive fatalism emerges in the warning that “your fortunes will become your prison with your passions as your cell.”
Freeman is just as effective a lyricist of longing as he is a social commentator, especially on tracks like “Marooned.” The song is a heartbreaking ballad of loving someone who is unreachable, trapped in self-protection and an identity script. The narrator watches a partner who “tries to hide the Capricorn” and keeps their “heart marooned,” terrified that their world will “shatter at the slightest touch.” They flee intimacy—“You can sail away to China… the price you pay is in shallow roots”—choosing distance over vulnerability.
All Set the Bone is a testament to how chaos, dread, and heartbreak can break the soul simultaneously. Across jagged arrangements and rugged vocal delivery, Freeman navigates the emotional and economic pressures shaping modern adulthood while carving out a voice entirely his own. It’s a record of persistence and hard-won humanity.
