David Bazan: Care

Throughout the synth-soaked invitational of Care, David Bazan continues to masterfully represent and wrestle with his Walt Whitman-esque “I contain multitudes” creative arc. Between the breath-close vocal performances and a sparse sonic palette of uncluttered keyboards and minimalist drum loops, fans of Bazan’s solo and band (Pedro the Lion, Headphones) catalog will find continuing strands of familiarity carrying through – most notably from his equally intimate solo releases from last year (Blanco and the holiday compilation Dark Sacred Night) and the electronic pulse of his 2005 Headphones album. While those artistic echoes pop up here and there throughout Care, the album showcases its individual genius through the bitingly fresh nuances found in Bazan’s instrumental, melodic and lyrical approaches.
One of Bazan’s true songwriting gifts is his deft ability to use penetrating storytelling to both convey universal themes and explore personal epiphanies. Whether he’s embodying a female character to ask the age-old question “Can men and women not be friends?” on the title track or self-reflectively inquiring “Do I enjoy the drugs I take?” on “Disappearing Ink,” his warm, measured delivery makes it hard to tell who exactly is asking the questions and who will benefit from the answers (if there even are any to be found). While Bazan has continued to strive for a state of unfiltered present-ness that may occasionally appear to clash with previous iterations of his perspectives, he seems entirely at peace with the brutal honesty of the sentiment – again echoing Whitman – “Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself.”