Greg Freeman – Curtain

Transgressive Records / Canvasback Music

If you have even a passing interest in the currently unfolding alt-country renaissance, there’s a good chance that you already know the name Greg Freeman. His 2022 album I Looked Out has been gaining a steady audience over the last few years, working its way into my rotation alongside the swampy stomp of Boat Songs and the crushing riffage of Wednesday. Hell, sometimes I’ll even queue up a Greg Mendez album after just so I can enjoy back-to-back Gregs. His related artists on Spotify include the likes of Friendship, Merce Lemon, Sluice, and Wild Pink, so it’s safe to say if you like any of this type of music, you’ll probably pick up what Freeman is putting down. 

While I Looked Out plays into the distorted guitarwork you’d expect to hear from an artist tangentially associated with the burgeoning country/shoegaze/alt-indie scene, that album also showcased an impressive range of inspirations and artistry that looked far beyond the confines of any one genre. Sure, there’s some gnarly guitar squall on songs like “Colorado,” but there’s also beautifully reserved revelations on “Long Distance Driver” and, true, aching long-distance love on “I’ll See You In My Mind.” By the time the closing track, “Palms,” rolls around, it feels like an apocalyptic ending where the world is being broken apart atom by atom, reformed in molten. Where some catastrophize, Freeman seems to view this ending as a new beginning, telegraphed at the tail end of 2024 when he tacked two bonus tracks onto the release, seemingly capping off this body of work.

In April, Freeman announced his sophomore album, Burnover, with the raucous “Point and Shoot,” a horn-filled track packed with nudity, blood splatters, and brilliant lyricism, coming off like a campy ‘90s B movie. That song felt like a natural bridge from I Looked Out, but now we’ve been treated to “Curtain,” a six-and-a-half-minute barroom brawler that jangles forward with restless piano and a drunken lilt. 

Taking the role of a truth-telling poet, Freeman paints vivid pictures of blood-swept plains, cruciform fossils, and drummers leering down from rusty metal thrones. He’s waiting around, so he might as well buy another drink. At some point, he seems to reach a romantic impasse, laying out in perfectly plain language, “If your heart's not in it / Then your heart's not in it,” later flipping this to “If my heart can't take it / Then my heart can't take it.”

While “Curtain” is a fair step away from the distorted guitar that can so often feel like a staple (or crutch) of this genre, it’s a confident step toward a more realized singer-songwriter sound that’s got me wildly excited for whatever the rest of his sophomore album holds.