ERIC OSBOURNE

This probably goes without saying, but I think the context of where, when, and how you consume music is crucial to how you appreciate it, and perhaps a balmy, shorts-weather afternoon in the third week of November isn’t exactly right for an album like Eric Osbourne’s debut. But in the absence of the means to hole up in a rural cabin, isolated behind silent acres of bare branches and the visual hush of a landscape smothered in snow, a warm day during the last stretch of autumn is just something you make do with for such beautifully plaintive music. And anyway, Osbourne’s songs, drawn in melancholy shades by his lonely baritone and minor-key finger-picking, are kind of transportive that way. They take your mind to places like the low-lit oppression of a low-rent apartment, made darker by the dissolution of a relationship or the unreality of a totally empty street at dusk. In his songs, Osbourne has wrought a superbly emotive debut. The DIY atmospherics – the tape hiss, the sound of someone clanking dishes in the kitchen – give the music an elegantly mournful ambience. The stoic majesty of a mountain and the solitary exploration of a new cityscape are reflections in Osbourne’s songs… but so is the idea of emotional processing. So whether you’re wandering the frigid emptiness of a windswept city after dark or sitting on a balcony in some unseasonably pleasant sunshine, the imagery and impact of Eric Osbourne’s music is beneficial for your soul. – Steve Steward, Fort Worth Weekly

In this time of forced world reflection, I’ve been cooking a lot, going through old demos, and looking at photos from the time I was living in Chicago. Though I don’t consider myself a city person anymore, I definitely met and worked with some really special people in that scene, and it was very integral to who I’ve become.

I’ve been listening to my friend Eric Osbourne’s self-titled album, some of which was recorded in 2013 in my old room in Chicago, among many other places over the years. Well, this year he finally got his shit together and put it out. Eric was in a band called Cellmates before he went on to make his solo music, and when I moved to Chicago, before I knew anyone, I had heard of a house show in Wicker Park, and Cellmates were playing. I went alone. I didn’t know then how much of an inspiration that time or that person would be on my life and music. I sang backup on his song “Long Way From Home” before I was signed to any label or working with anyone. – Angel Olsen, Pitchfork