There has been a palpable void in the landscape of downbeat Americana ever since the passing of Vic Chesnutt in 2009. On his final recordings, Chesnutt pushed into increasingly dark, experimental textures, collaborating with figures like Fugazi’s Guy Picciotto and members of the post-rock collective Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra. Yet, Chesnutt was not alone in exploring these sinister, shadowed tones. Before retreating into a long silence in the mid-1990s, the band Souled American had already begun a fascinating evolution, morphing from a rootsy alt-country outfit into a group that embraced ambient shades and the slow-burning intensity of slowcore.
While Souled American always maintained a cult following—perhaps even more devoted than that of Uncle Tupelo—they seemed destined to remain a footnote in music history. That narrative shifted three years ago when Jeff Tweedy highlighted the band in his book World Within a Song, acknowledging the profound influence they exerted on his own songwriting. Now, the duo of bassist Joe Adducci and guitarist Chris Grigoroff has emerged from a 30-year hiatus with their seventh studio album, Sanctions.
The opening track, “Stranger,” immediately establishes the record’s bleak, introspective atmosphere. “I am a stranger / My guts is my brains / I believe I’ve stumbled / Onto this place,” Grigoroff sings. While the lyrics address the treatment of immigrants in the United States, the song resonates with a broader, universal sense of isolation that feels particularly poignant today.
The remainder of the album sustains this haunted quality, with lyrical themes centered on mortality, decline, and desuetude. On the closing track, “We,” Grigoroff strains his voice to deliver the haunting line, “We are long, long gone.” Meanwhile, the bonus track “Sorry State” offers a similarly stark reflection: “It’s a sorry state / Without a sorry heart.”
On Sanctions, Adducci and Grigoroff divide songwriting and vocal duties, creating a compelling contrast. While Grigoroff’s delivery is marked by a rusted, weathered edge, Adducci’s voice provides a sweeter, more melodic counterpoint. His romantic paean “Living Love” and the Neil Young-inspired “Freeing Wheels” offer a necessary, if still languid, reprieve from the record’s heavier moments of spiritual dissipation.
Ultimately, Sanctions serves as a masterful distillation of what made Souled American essential in the first place. The interplay between the two remaining members transforms their individual quirks into a cohesive, powerful joint effort. As Jeff Tweedy once noted, the band’s influence on artists like Wilco is undeniable. Sanctions feels as though it has been transmitted from a different time, yet it remains entirely relevant—a testament to the fact that there is nothing anachronistic about their singular, enduring vision.