Ian McCuen - Westward, to Nowhere (2022)

Hailing from Buffalo, NY, Westward, to Nowhere is my first introduction to the music of singer-songwriter, multi-instrumentalist and producer Ian McCuen. The term DIY Bedroom Folk hardly does the music on this album justice. However, there is no denying that it is their DIY approach that lends it such a deep authenticity; McCuen’s arrangements are exceptional and remarkably intuitive, especially considering that they play most of the instruments. Their songs are unrushed and, at times, intricately put together, with McCuen playing everything from acoustic guitar to theatre organ. They are joined on several tracks by guest musicians Lissa Reed on cello, Sally Schaefer on violin and Tom Stocklosa on trombone whose contributions accentuate the rich emotion contained within this release.

McCuen describes the album as a departure from their more introspective three-volume ‘breakout project’ Songs of Fleeting Permanence, which they began in their late teens and completed in their early twenties. Westward, to Nowhere is a concept album of types, a road journey with a loose narrative, a drifter in search of answers and a way to regain their self-worth, a struggle that continually haunts them, drawing them to the brink during their darkest moments. They believe those answers can be found in the sun-drenched landscape of California. As depicted on Christina Riccio’s album cover artwork, it’s a rail journey, something we are reminded of throughout the storyteller-like structure of the album through the use of occasional field recordings of a train or the clever mimicking of one as at the end of the Westward opener and on the final track Nowhere.

While the approach to this album may have been a departure, many of those early themes found on Songs of Fleeting Permanence haunt this album, including depression, anxiety, isolation, dependency and longing for escape. The drifter of this album seems happy in their isolation. On Lonesome Homesteader (titled Lonesome Dreamer elsewhere), they reveal that they have “no need for anyone else” and “inside my head, there’s hundreds of acres for me to roam”. Despite this freedom, they struggle with their self-worth. There are moments on this song and across the album that contrast the highs and lows of living with depression – the upbeat whistling outro of Lonesome Homesteader contrasts with the earlier affirmation of ‘what if I put up a fight just to keep myself alive’.

That constant turmoil of emotions is ever-present, and as they journey west, you find yourself hoping they will find respite in that promised land. That journey begins with lightness and hope; the plucked banjo opening of Westward and its ‘Westward’ mantra are repeated in whispers across the album, such as on Lawrence, KS, an urge to carry on. The latter and several other tracks map out that westward journey through place name song titles – Independence, MO; Beatrice, NE; Cheyenne, WY; Helena, MT and Deadwood, SD.

The promises of the great western expanse have fooled many before and on American Retreat, they sing, “Great expanse so vast, you have led me on, you have led me astray, and I’m not the only one”, later adding what is also surely a historical reference and a sobering line, “all that is found instead is a trail of genocide’.

Along the way, there are trials; on the deliciously wonky instrumental Stumbling (saloon) and the following Loathsome Drunkard, the “ritualistic descent into the black” is depicted, the sweet dulling numbness of whisky followed by depression and self-loathing: “I don’t want to be here anymore, I don’t want to be me anymore”.

The cost of constantly running and drinking away is weighed up in the lost love and friendships of The Letter and, later, in the sickening realisation that the journey Westward is a false hope, captured in focus on Deadwood, SD and the final ‘Nowhere‘.

The plaintive honesty of the songs highlights the fragility of human nature while also reflecting on the past – the memories of youth ‘once fresh-faced, wide-eyed and keen’. Despite the weight and melancholy of many of the themes, there are many beautiful and touching moments of respite throughout Westward, to Nowhere. It’s an engaging journey-like album on which the story draws you in. To add a bonus, there are some remarkably unexpected musical moments. Many of the songs have almost musical movements, such as Deadwood, SD‘s moving piano and violin mid-section, which provide lustre and detail. There’s never a dull moment, and I was surprised at how fast the eighteen tracks seemed to fly by.

In laying bare their deepest innermost feelings and fears, McCuen has created a moving storytelling journey that is all the more beautiful for its fragility. It’s a stunning achievement.