Like the gentle glow of the moonlight as you drunkenly wander home, Through Highways provides a much needed glimpse of light in an increasingly bleak landscape. With hearts on their sleeves and dust in their boots, Lil Racecar and Gravelust combine their gravelly, tortured vocal-styles with the intimate production style of 1800entity, carefully creating a complex fusion of punk, country, and rap that’s honest without being heavy-handed.
Through Highways feels like you’ve hung around a bonfire with two old friends, pouring their hearts out without drowning you in any narcissistic self-loathing. These tales of woe are for all of us. You feel their optimism, despite the lyrical subject matter touching on delicate topics like loss, longing, and lust. Their voices are palpitating with hurt, but they never falter in their desire to relate. There’s a spine to this album, a certain confidence in the way they convey their story. Outwest have masterfully created something significant, not just for the moment, but for anyone who ever wishes to feel the palpable kinship of another battered soul.
The tide splashes at our feet as we drop into the transcendent world of “Swamp Ballad.” Serenity abounds as the birds let loose their evening sighs. Fire crackles, this fight for light being the finale to a long day of battles. In the distance, lightning strikes, reminding us of the chaotic, unpredictable force of Mother Nature. Suddenly, ominous guitars rise out of the fog, casting uncertainty over this whole endeavor. What happened to the serenity? Our coin has been turned to it’s reverse and it is unsettling. Nature, like your mind, doesn’t care for a moment of silence. Moans echo as the Gravelust’s psychedelic voice rises up with a command, “Bury me my girl.” The moans grow louder, the instrumental getting right in our face as the request repeats, this time growing more specific, to be “Bathed in wine.” The confrontation subsides just as quickly as it began as the Outwest tag to “I love cowboys” rattles through our heads. Left shook, we absentmindedly follow the guitars as they continue their wayward journey back into the fog.
We come out the other side to the bright twang of “New Mexico”, guiding us back to the light. Through heavy, explosive 808’s, Gravelust’s voice swells to the surface as he begins, “Fast lane life, down the highway, screaming.” When you run for so long, it wears you down. A solitary life seems like solace when you’re constantly hurt by those around you, but you can’t escape the voice in your head. He continues, “Cheating, playing all the cards right, let ’em know.” An internal struggle persists as you try to convince everyone (especially yourself) that you have it all together. That being said, what does it mean to have it all together? No one is there to guide you, and Gravelust screaming his misfortunes at the heavens is indicative of that frustration. All throughout this discovery, we’ve been cradled by the warm, complex instrumental that becomes more and more vibrant as the song goes on. Just as the abyss tries to tap us on the shoulder, the instrumental swells back to bring us the very fitting hook. The horizon shines as the bright twang of the guitar begins to fade.
Gravelust’s solo track, “Ride Away” begins very solemnly, like footsteps up the stairs of a funeral home. The bass and guitar circle each other, like they’re preparing for duel at high noon. Something’s broken here, something’s happened. The bright snap of the snare accompanies Gravelust as he informs us, “I’m dragging on again, your hands are on my chest, I wash my heart from you.” Gravelust isn’t slinging blame, he’s trying to find peace in himself through dealing with his version of the trauma. He nearly begs, “For you to see that I like being alone, I ride away from you, to this night so blue, through burning summers.” The guitar gets more chaotic the more Gravelust reaffirms his stance; he’s done with this kind of relationship, done with this kind of hurt. What he wants remains to be said, but it’s comforting to know that someone else believes that they deserve better. What’s even more comforting is that he wants to escape from this pain instead of recreating that. Is that healthier? Maybe not, but at least you have another environment in which to figure your shit out. His confidence in himself through this situation combined with his head-on confrontation of the issue gives one faith in the merits of an iron will. We’re waltzed back into uncertainty by the relaxed see-saw of notes carefully crooned from the neck of the guitar.
Lil Racecar’s solo track, “God Take Me Now” has the same feel as “Ride Away”, in that it’s an idiosyncratic take on very common subject matter. Where Gravelust groaned out the graceful lessons he’s gathered from his experience with heartbreak, Lil Racecar delivers a tale of depression, anger, and jealousy disguised through a cheerful chord selection and upbeat voice. The constant cry, “God Take Me Now” feels like an exclamation rather than a command. We all have our struggles with good and evil, and sometimes we put ourselves in situations where we’re fucked if we do and fucked if we don’t. This feels like a song to listen to when you really need another two minutes of hope. When shit is hitting the fan and you’re running out of faith, the brightness that shines from this piece will do in lieu of a light at the end of the tunnel.
The driving guitars compliment each other with the respect normally reserved for childhood heroes as we arrive at the eponymous track of the album. We’ve heard about the pair’s heartbreak, sorrow, and optimism, but we haven’t heard about how they process the grief of it all. Lil Racecar tries to fills us in, “Who’s the last one here, the lights are all turned off, the neon’s bright, shining through the window”, and “You haven’t left in days haven’t you” are perfect examples of the lingering pain left when we experience something traumatic. What happens when the memories remain burned into your mind, staining your peripheral vision with their image? We’re reminded of their presence everywhere we go, and since they’re always on our mind, it’s common to feel renewed love for the things that hurt us. But it’s only disguised as being renewed; it laid dormant, waiting for it’s moment to open the wound and infect us once again. “I can feel trapped again, but I can break past a wire on your time” is akin to a lie we’ve all told ourselves at this point. We seek control over that which hurt us, and when that’s not possible, ignorance is truly bliss. We need something, some lie to tell ourselves that helps us get through the day.
Gravelust and Racecar join for the most bone-chilling moment of their duets as they chant, “Through highways I speak to you. Through highways my love for you.” One of the biggest problems with constantly moving, constantly running is that our demons don’t get tired. There’s something comforting in their toxic persistence, as Gravelust puts it, “It’s very nice to see you but I can’t say it’s a pleasure for me now.” The dichotomy of knowing how good it will be to let go and the pain from the thought of losing something causes a tug-of-war inside one’s mind where the rope is likely to remain eternally taut. The background vocals ring from every corner of your mind, screaming at you to make a decision. But every time you think you’re cornered in, the hook comes back around and gives us a reprieve, if only for a moment. We need to keep moving, keep trying new things, keep learning because if the only other option is stagnation, you might as well be doing something than nothing. There’s no pressure to figure it out right now. Take your time, be honest with yourself and your situation, and if it seems hopeless, you might be better off to get on the road and get out of your head. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Ride off, cowboy.