The catalog of Little Wings is rumpled and worn, full of favorites that are worth returning to again and again. Kyle Field’s songs are unvarnished, yet warm and dusted with a sense of home. They’re a favorite blanket to return to in times of joy and a shoulder in times of sadness. Over the years his humble folk has also whittled out a cache of earworms that burrow deep. From Wonderue’s forest charms to Light Green Leaves’ understated pop mastery, on through the sun-streaked sighs of his Woodsist debut a few years back that found him wandering into private press folk territory. On Zephyr, Field proves that even the spaces between albums warrant attention. This release started as an Australian tour tape. Home recorded songs, intercut with field recordings of caves and the crashes of waves create an album that embraces a campfire crackle, a back porch vibe that’s as rough as driftwood, but no less entrancing in the shapes it traces across the speakers.
With the sound of crickets in the background, he ponders the depths of bodies of water, seaglass shapes, past loves, crumbling dreams, and aching memories. Without a sense of flash, Field strums solid, but lets his works inch their way into your mind, held fast with his stubbled vocals and an air of cabin dampness. Confessional to the point of feeling like a found journal, the works on Zephyr were more than just a march table bonus, and with a mastering scrub up (just slightly) by Paul Oldham and a gorgeous cover photo from Kyle, the new Sun Cru edition slots this into the warm corners of his catalog.
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