LT Wade - Requiem for the American Dream (2020)

Requiem For The American Dream is musician/producer, LT Wade’s second solo effort, and the UK-born, NYC resident has a lot to say about his adopted homeland on this eccentric collection of characters and corruption.

Wade’s previous work as part of FURS, along with his debut solo long player, Transient, hinted at a palette that went further than your average rock-indebted musician, particularly in his eclectic yet vintage-warmed production. But here his independent spirit is given license to be indulged on a track-by-track basis.

Opener, Welcome To The USA, seems to play it fairly safe to start, with echoes of Dennis Wilson in its airy 70s vibe and chorus-drenched guitar, but as the lyric and album narrative reveals itself you find its anything but MOR. Caravan sees Wade adopt a low drawl to talk of the perils of border crossing on a track that is Sly Stone-esque in its mix of vibe and vitriol, while Side by Side ups the ante with a pitch-shifted vocal, Thundercat smoothness, and a free-jazz sax breakdown.

The music here variously recalls Tame Impala, 70s soul and lo-fi hip hop, but is never pinned down – such is the movement of the narrative and the methods Wade employs to serve it.

The news-sampling interludes mark the touch points and bring the message home in no uncertain terms, but even here Wade plays on the juxtaposition of joyous sounds and earnest world-view sentiments. This counterplay is none more evident than on the blissed-out psych of Parkland and the previously-mentioned Caravan – the ecstatic-sounding refrain of which might tempt arms-in-the-air abandon at festival season were it not for the lyric giving it the air of an off-brand Hacienda classic.

The album’s shape-shifting persona starts to settle towards the end: Retrograde’s euphoric melancholia epitomises the feeling of paradise lost (though a vocal could have made it the standout), and Money is the best example of Wade’s talent for simple songwriting, boosted by the vocals of sister/ FURS bandmate Elle Wade.

The album closes with the Motown-esque Imagine Us – a sunnily-optimistic conclusion that everything can be ok if we just work together. You’d be forgiven for thinking it’s a little saccharine in sentiment if presented as a stand-alone song, but it serves to show that this album is intended to be consumed as a single-sitting social commentary on modern America; even the sub-22-minute running time accounts for the scourge of decimated attention spans.

The idea of releasing what could be termed a concept album – not to mention the undertaking of the position of a mouthpiece – is often a Marmite move in the world of music. However, even the staunchest of naysayers couldn’t help but admire what is on offer here, as well as the compellingly-unique presentation of a ubiquitous topic. It’s an album that rewards repeated listens and serves as a free-spirited showcase of Wade’s considerable talents.