Music Review: Old Time Reverie

Mipso describes themselves as “renegade traditionalists,” a contradiction in terms that is understandably confusing for those who are unacquainted with the band. But for the initiated, there’s no better description—what else do you say about a group that refashions Drake in the style of classical bluegrass?

The band’s new album, "Old Time Reverie," picks up where this renegade tradition left off in their 2013 full-length debut. A little sharper, a little more grown-up, the band kept the same concept: playing with the conventions of old-school bluegrass to end up with something that’s not at all old-fashioned.

The most obvious change Mipso has made since their last album is the addition of Libby Rodenbough on the fiddle. Although Rodenbough has been involved with the band since its early days—she met the group’s three founding members when they were students at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and recorded the violin part for their first EP—"Old Time Reverie" marks her introduction as a full-fledged member, and her addition is a most welcomed one. As the only woman in the band, Rodenbough takes a turn in the spotlight as the lead singer on two tracks—“Down in the Water” and “Everyone Knows”—and her gentle voice makes for a refreshing change of pace. She particularly shines on the latter track, a lush and haunting reflection on a “cold and dark” world.

Among Mipso’s greatest strengths are their thoughtful lyrics. “Experimental laparoscopic cardiology” as a solution to a broken heart from "Dark Holler Pop"’s “Red Eye to Raleigh” is one of my all-time favorite lines—and "Old Time Reverie" certainly delivers on this count. More so than "Dark Holler Pop" did, "Old Time Reverie" experiments with storytelling. “Bad Penny” takes the cake for uniqueness, with a jaded Abraham Lincoln come to life from the surface of a coin chasing the singer through New York, offering life advice as he goes. The opening track “Marianne” is also daring, but in a different way—told from the perspective of an interracial couple deciding to leave the bigotry of their hometown. But the band isn’t always trying on other personas for size. The album’s most emotional song is one of the most personal. In “Momma,” mandolin player Jacob Sharp describes his mother’s death from ovarian cancer four years ago, naked grief apparent as his voice climbs into its upper register to ask “Am I still so lost?”.

The record is just as earnest as "Dark Holler Pop," but it’s more polished—a slight upgrade across the board. As Sharp told Recess this summer: “I don’t really think it’s a departure, but we are just naturally becoming more of our own with what we are involved with.”