Gambles - Trust

Forget frivolity. Close that cat GIF, shut the lid on that neatly typed internal monologue and pull the plug on the soul-sapping glab coming from the box in the corner. The debut album by New Yorker Gambles, aka Matthew Daniel Siskin, is a remarkably real record, which makes the 21st Century’s incessant, self-involved gluttony seem entirely inane by contrast. ‘Trust’’s emotionally-titanic impact is not least because of its harrowing subject matter; the record was born out of tragedy and inner turmoil, with Siskin setting out to confront what was previously unaddressed in the winter of 2012 - namely the breakdown of his relationship and tragic loss of his child.

It could be an overwhelming concept that offers little relief, especially considering he communicates his reflections through naked, sparse confessionals that bare only warped acoustic guitar strums and the unrefined crack of his voice. Although, strangely it isn’t as unbearably claustrophobic and debilitating as one might expect or indeed accept given the circumstances. Opener ‘Angel’, as a matter of fact, sticks out like a cartoon-crimson sore thumb, chiefly because it’s a beautifully simple song that is contemplative, insightful and instantly gripping. Like The Moldy Peaches or Daniel Johnston, it dumbfounds with an alluringly raw approach, venturing almost aimlessly through the man’s psyche with seemingly little planning or forethought.

This consistent feeling that much of ‘Trust’ was scarcely complete before it was committed to tape is a key component of the whole thing’s indisputable weight. ‘Rooftops’ flows out of Siskin in such an organic and untampered way, one would imagine he sat crossed legged gripping his battered Dreadnought, before pressing record and allowing his immediate reactions to pour onto the timeline. Better still, ‘So I Cry Out’ is perhaps the moment his Cohen-esque songwriting reveals its unassuming majesty – a line like “So here we are in the final stand/Kids grown up by the hardest of circumstance” after all, shows rare prowess and an ability to turn his own intimate issues into all-encompassing universal truths that are undeniably cathartic. Then there’s ‘265’, an infinitely sad pinnacle late on that’s defined by its minor progression and wolf-like howl, before curtain call ‘Animal’, which is as bittersweetly life-affirming and cinematic as anything off Noah And The Whale’s ‘The First Days Of Spring’. Amateurish, but defiantly unperturbed, this is a grave and momentous listen.