Landamar

"Your lover now is your enemy, but you see her again at the end of a dream"

Singer/Songwriter Adam Hitchell
of Chicago's Landamar

Landamar is the project of Chicago singer/songwriter Adam Hitchell, a friend and one-time fellow student of mine at Millikin University in Decatur, IL. Formerly calling himself Ten of Swords, Hitchell recently released the album Dry Spell under the Landamar name and resumed playing with a rotating lineup of musicians, including original Ten of Swords collaborator Chresten Hyde. Hitchell compiled an impressive group to support his country rock/indie folk compositions on the album, the backing instrumentation providing a fullness and richness that perfectly rounds out his thoughtful and intricate acoustic guitar and piano-based songwriting. Combine the best of Ryan Adams, the Wallflowers, and City and Colour, then quietly intensify the vocals, and you can begin to imagine the overall feel on Dry Spell. Suffice it to say I'm excited to see him playing with a full group again.

Hitchell took the original name for his project from the Tarot deck, in which the "Ten of Swords" is the most portentous card. Its illustration, that of a body on a beach pierced by ten blades, signifies the worst of fortunes, but beyond this scene lies redemption—a calm sea and a rising sun—since, at our absolute lowest, we can only find better days ahead. Dry Spell conveys such highs and lows, with a well-balanced mixture of up-tempo country rock and more moderate, crestfallen lamentations. The second track on the album, "Everybody Knows," begins with Hitchell's signature fingerpicking style, its intricate mix of suspensions and hammered-on melodies belying a single player. The band's entrance a few bars in feels patient and methodical, with layers of electric and lap steel guitars, piano, harmonica, and drums that all compliment, rather than complicate, the core of the tune, instilling it with mystery and mourning and capturing a lover's reluctant acceptance of the inevitable.

Landamar's 2013 release, Dry Spell

Contrasting with that track is "Little Girl," which begins with a descending vocal melody ("Well I thought you were a woman...") and immediately erupts into a wall of Nashville-worthy country sound that effectively writes off this "little girl" who "need[s] some growing time" before she'd make a worthy companion. Double-tracked vocals and soaring harmonies contribute to song's intensity, and the layers of instrumentation—especially the organ—fill out the song while leaving space where the primary guitar and vocals need it. The best part comes at 0:54 (and then returns twice later), when Hyde begins to strike the snare on each down beat and Hitchell's vocals call out decisively in constant eighth notes for two straight measures. If "Everybody Knows" is about regret, "Little Girl" is about moving on.

But my favorite track on the album by far has to be "Medicine," a line from which stands as the epigraph to this post. Opening with light acoustic strumming and delicate, breathy vocals that hint at an emotional exhaustion, Hitchell's melody builds upward at the turn of the verse as he sings, "You couldn't live up to anything," then drops down dejectedly to the tonic as he emphasizes, "oh, no." The swelling string and lap steel arrangements, twangy, lightly distorted electric guitar, and soft piano tinkerings support the raw emotional content throughout, helping it build toward a series of peaks that provide bittersweet but satisfying tension and release. And there's about eight seconds, starting at 2:37, where the drums drop down to light, constant strokes on the ride and the strings play a quiet tremolo, that may be the greatest moment on the album. More than any other song, "Medicine" combines the best of Hitchell's reflective lyricism and the band's passionate musicality—features that have made Dry Spell a mainstay of my music collection.

Hitchell and Robbins of
Lonely Companion

I've had the opportunity to see Hitchell play on quite a few occasions, both formally and informally, and I always look forward to watching his sets. He's a stellar guitarist whose easy delivery makes his fairly complex arrangements come across effortlessly, and when he plays solo it feels almost as though you're listening to a (slightly) larger group. As they do on Dry Spell, Hitchell's live vocals combine a richness and a raspiness that reminds me a lot of Richard Edwards from Margot and the Nuclear So & So's. In recent years, he's also played with wife Jessica Robbins in the group Lonely Companion, and while I've not heard any of the pair's original work, they do a fantastic cover of Fiona Apple's "Extraordinary Machine" (the link goes to Hitchell and Robbins' cover) that shows off both her vocals and his guitar playing (not to mention a fairly adorable dog). I'm told Lonely Companion is about to release their first original recording sometime in the very near future, so keep an eye out for them. And finally, while they have nothing scheduled currently, both Landamar and Lonely Companion have played frequently in Chicago, so keep watching their respective sites for dates as they do return. I know I will.

Happy listening.