Shortwave radio is a nearly-defunct technology that now exists only on the edge of memory, a tool of niche hobbyists. It is a fitting metaphor, then, for those continuing down a highway without travelers, a dusty trail without service to make a call. On his new EP, Shortwaving, alternative Americana singer-songwriter and in-demand sideman (you might have seen him on stage with artists like John Moreland, Ben Kweller, Wild Child, Hanson, and countless others), John Calvin Abney explores the unease - the fear, even - that comes from repeatedly sending signals into the atmosphere and hearing little but static and silence in response. As Abney puts it in the title track: “Swim the shortwave / Cutting in and out / I’m losing strength in these hills / Between the stations / Is the dark you heard about / Can you hear it now? / Shortwaving still.”

 

The central question of this project is this - what do you do when communication seems to be losing its ability to reach people? For Abney, the answer is to beam your message into the void regardless, almost as an act of faith. The result is a haunting set of country-rock laments, descended from classic end-of-the-party albums like Neil Young’s On The Beach and Jason Molina’s The Magnolia Electric Co. Chunky minor chords loop on repeat while ghostly slide guitar figures glide in and out of earshot. When Abney sings “There’s a devil in the dialtone,” we can hear exactly what he means.

 

Recorded at Columbus, Ohio’s Secret Studio in a single day with a small group of friends, including co-producer Lydia Loveless on background vocals and engineering duties, one gets the feeling of accidentally stumbling upon the lost tapes of an obscure Midwestern band, amplifying incantations away in a hidden corner somewhere. These are songs about not being heard that sound almost private, as if they’re perhaps not meant to be heard.

 

This intimate quality gives Shortwaving a refreshing lack of self-consciousness. Abney gives the impression of singing these songs primarily to himself, almost as a kind of prayer. While coming to terms with the reality of communicating and creating in an age of noise and glamor, he is attempting to “whisper in a hurricane”. The theme of soldiering on through the cacophony permeates the 5-song set - whether in “Arkansas River Bridge”, where Abney challenges both heaven and the devil to “See me get back up and try,” or in the chorus of “Truckee River Blues”, where Abney sings to both the moon and himself, “Shine on, sickle blade moon / It’s too late to go too soon.”

 

Shortwaving’s glimmers of hope, the “silver lining on a shadow”, as Abney puts it in the title track, come in a few buoyant musical moments later on in the EP - the chiming sparks of a faraway guitar on the instrumental track “Supporting Actor”, which sounds like it could be lifted straight from the session tapes of Led Zeppelin III, and the triumphant, crashing chords that announce the chorus of final track “Truckee River Blues”. After a dark night of the soul spent swimming in the airwaves, it feels as if John Calvin Abney finally receives his response amidst the droning static and spectral frequencies. It is a reminder of the joy and humanity contained in the very act of moving forward and sending out transmissions on these lost highways. And even though it may be harder to hear than it once was - on certain wavelengths at least, Shortwaving is a lighthouse, helping to navigate memories of what used to be.