On ‘Roses,’ Widowspeak finds the magic in mundane romance

We aren’t immune to a slow dance in romantic purgatory. It catches most of us in our deepest affections and stirs an impossible longing. Time passes, and we give love another whirl, but it’s never quite the same as our first time — however beautifully ordinary it might have been.

There is a specific brand of love that feels like that, resembling stale diner coffee or a frayed woolen sweater. For more than a decade, the Widowspeak duo of Molly Hamilton and Robert Earl Thomas have waded in that sentiment without dedicating an entire record to it. On their seventh studio album, the aptly titled “Roses,” the pair delve into that romantic abyss to sit in its shadows, exploring the moments that left a lingering, lukewarm taste long after the diner closed, or the comfort of a frayed sweater that masked its loose ends. “Roses” remains vulnerable, unraveling those fragile threads that pull at our heartstrings.

The album is defined by a sense of place — one that captures precise, warm memories and reframes them in enchantingly mundane detail. The quiet, undriven cobblestone streets of the recording site, in particular, feel engaged, shaping sophomore single “No Driver.”

When Hamilton sings “You still believe you know the road by heart / But all things rust and all things rattle apart,” loving an aimless someone mirrors the steady decay of the streetscape.

But the deliberate simplicity shines brightest in the small moments that often fade into the tapestry of our daily lives: ribbons piled on the floor, the softness of an old tee shirt, rings from a tall cold glass. That visual palette, swirled into their non-linear sequencing of songs, portrays “Roses” as a photo album that documents an array of romantic moments.

Those intimate, everyday vignettes clamored for a new sonic landscape, elevating Widowspeak’s established sound into sharper territory. Alex Farrar, renowned for his productions that blend soft vocals and coarse guitar textures, steered the band through the engineering of their first self-produced album. His fingerprints are evident throughout, with the production feeling more abrasive and angular than their previous six studio albums. Their classic hazy, dream-like atmosphere endures, but jagged guitar jangles, gritty drum beats and dry vocals endow the record with that sharper edge — some amalgam between the amber jangle-pop of R.E.M circa “Fables Of The Reconstruction” and the mercurial dream-pop of Mazzy Star circa “So Tonight That I Might See.”

From Ringo Starr-like drum pulses to Neil Young-esque guitar licks, the vast majority of “Roses” flaunts the streamlined sound. “If You Change” particularly pops, breaking with chiming guitars before erupting into a kinetic, post-chorus riff.

“If you change / Don’t change too much / ‘Cause I really loved this one,” Hamilton lingers on the refrain.

Is she addressing a romantic partner, a past version of herself, or someone else entirely? Their identity remains compellingly unclear.

If the album ever stumbles, it’s when the instrumentation doesn’t complement Hamilton’s vocals.

On “Wondering,” the janky, uncharacteristic guitar strums harshly eclipse Hamilton’s soft vocal delivery: “You’ll never leave the table wondering” she murmurs, before the stiff picks enter to spoil the moment. And “Heaven Is Waiting,” a rendering of passive hope, hovers in a beautiful atmospheric holding pattern, but awaits a guitar-driven payoff that never comes.

“Soft Cover” feels like the album’s well-loved paperback book — creased spine, yellowed pages, bent corners and all. In other words, it’s the definitive page-turner on “Roses.”

“Carry you all over town / Like a soft cover I can’t put down,” Hamilton cherishes, her delivery bearing the warmth of the scene itself.

At its heart, it’s meant to capture an undying infatuation with a long-term partner, but it appears more nuanced than the traditional fervent love song. Between its affectionate lyrics and shimmery indie-pop instrumentals rests a subtle tragedy of codependency: “Hold me close like the dancers do / I’m too caught up in you,” Hamilton floats. Can you feel too in love? Or too attached? “Soft Cover” feels relentless as it sparks the question.

“Roses’” parting moment is one of fragility — an hourglass turned over to remind yourself that time is fleeting.

“Like an hourglass / Baby you’re sand,” Hamilton muses on the album closer, as if to portray the residual dust of a relationship slipping through her fingertips. However, rather than feverishly gathering the remnants off the ground, she glances back once, anchoring the memories, then carries into the promise of tomorrow: “Can’t hold too tight / Or I’ll have nothing / Like a candy / Melts in your hand.”

In contrast to album opener “The Hook,” there’s no scrapbook of preserved flowers, no tape with shared songs, no binder with postcards and ticket stubs. Time can blur the details, leaving a warm, distant good — still carving room for simple, mundane moments to be had tomorrow.

Isaac Rozwadowski is a student at Minnesota State University, Mankato, where he shares his talents as an editor for the MSU Reporter. He is a multifaceted writer, relentless listener and shares a belief that good music can shape a lifetime.