There’s a ferocity that comes with the territory of recording country in the City of Angels - we’ve seen it since the days of Gram and continue to with the likes of Ryan Bingham. This ferocity may not manifest in a way that inspires spite or anger, it’s generally just a issue of locality. Angelinos The Furious Seasons explore this embrace of Southern California diaspora on their latest record Look West, and in doing so, embrace the idea of off the 405 sentimentality as opposed to spitting in the wind.
Quiet as the album may be, there’s a lively quality to it. Many songs resemble the outcome of some more erratically orchestrated works that have been drowned in whiskey and rolled through the beginning of Cahuenga Boulevard. It’s an apt release for fall in L.A., mirroring the respite from an angry summer but still erring with caution to some residual heat, in whatever form that might take.
The Furious Seasons transcend any genre lines with the capricious, “Darlin, I’m never leaving, I’m gonna die here in L.A.” The exploration of that old chestnut that is the Los Angeles inspired sinking feeling is something that seems cyclical in songcraft. We’re certainly in an era of disenchantment for all area codes in the Greater Los Angeles Area – except, maybe Sylmar – that will likely get kicked soon enough. Look West in title alone is as much a command as it is a retroactive response to personal loss of lust and overall desire. The Seasons, ever-Furious as they may be will get their personal lives back in the right groove soon enough. For the time being, their latest is a powerful reminder not to underestimate them.