by Patrick Pilch (@pratprilch)
In June I drove from Chicago to Charlottesville in an empty ten foot U-Haul with a twenty foot boat in tow. I listened to Nina Ryser’s Paths of Color the whole time. The musician’s sixth solo album is deeply personal and has only further resonated since my initial cross-country binge. The record is drawn from just below the tip of the iceberg, Ryser’s unabated creativity breaching the surface with childlike curiosity and expression, a sign of an artist truly in touch with their craft.
The road is lines and my truck colors inside. “Breathe Again” plays and arpeggiates like pistons. It’s warm and persistent and makes me think of the people whom I hold unconditional and reciprocated love for. “Holding me so sweetly I forget all my regrets.” Ryser’s electronic setup snaps into place and the first track checkers like lights in a tunnel.
I’m in Ohio and it’s gray skies ahead. It’s getting darker and “Premonition 1” plays how you’d expect. The haunting, oceanic instrumental contains melodies heard in Nina Ryser’s dreams; a foreboding precursor to the passing of the musician’s beloved cat, Corn, the next day. Matt Norman’s brass arrangements swell with the colossal menace of open sea tides while it starts to rain - hard.
The highway downslopes sharp and I see run away ramps through the water-distorted windshield. My left leg shakes and “Shelf the Trophy” starts to play, my favorite track from Paths of Color. The synth-punk tune has got me craving live gigs and a friendly push-pit, but right now I’m surrounded by West Virginia torrents in the passenger seat of a reverse fishbowl.
I stop for a wet night in Charleston and my smoked room makes my tired eyes twitch. “When I can’t sleep/I hate myself the next day,” opens Ryser on “Close My Eyes,” a morning-time lullaby and an ode to the push-pull of self love and loathing. I check out early and hit play on Paths again to push through the second leg.
I drive in foggy-eyed delusion to “Billy Boy” while the morning sun pulls water up from the glinting highway and places it back in the sky. The drive takes twenty-three hours total and I sink into “You’ve Always Taken Charge” with each passing hour. The ten-minute excursion finds Nina Ryser grappling with her grandmother’s decision to take aid-in-dying medication. “How did you take that pill with dignity?” the singer asks. ”I want you to have control of your body/and yet I still cannot comprehend.” The latter six minutes of the track descends into a chugging rhythmic haze distinguishing a before and after by the time epilogue “Playground in Memory” saunters into focused earshot.
The drive was a job for a couple bucks (the shit I do for money) and they didn’t think I’d make it to Charlottesville - rainstorms, U-Hauls, motels and all. “They did not take you as the type who sees it through/now they're begging for rides.” Paths of Color is Ryser’s solid proof, as if we needed more. Between Palberta, Fire Roast, Shit Love, Data and more, the artist continues to carve a prolific and humbling songwriting track. Paths is all gems, no duds - a potent, winding journey in itself.