First Impressions: Until I’m Old News by Jordan Gruver

I discovered Jordan Gruver’s folk-tinged confessionals on Saturday. Our re-binge of The West Wing was frozen on the TV screen while Diane whipped up a snack for herself in the kitchen, so I checked in on the canines, cats, cows and other critters that make up much of my Instagram feed; there’s nothing like an otter to boost one’s mood, am I right? Somewhere in that cacophony of cuteness, however, an ad for Gruver’s Until I’m Old News appeared. The Norah Jones-ish song that flowed from my phone’s tinny speaker reminded me of gentle waves rolling to shore one after the next while, just beneath the water’s surface, a strong undertow was poised to pull unsuspecting swimmers out to sea.

I liked what I heard, in other words—so much so that I abandoned all critters and grabbed the TV remote, clicking away from The West Wing and to YouTube, where I searched Gruver’s name. The black-and-white video of “Somewhere” soon filled the screen, shielding strong emotions just beneath the calm veneer. “I know a little more now/sometimes I can’t spell it out,” she sings, admitting that the only way she knows how to love is when it’s fleeting.

On album, the song is rounded out with bass, drums and violin, yet remains as mesmerizing. Hers is the sound of coffeehouses and small clubs, with Until I’m Old News meant to be listened to in full. It’s a compelling song cycle that chronicles love and heartbreak, starts and stops, growth and the inevitable relapses. “Ask Me Why,” the leadoff track, opens with the embers of a once-fiery relationship smoldering in a proverbial fireplace, with wisps of smoke lingering in the room due to a faulty flue. “I’ll always come back/if you ask me to,” she admits. “Proximity” continues in the same vein, with the pain of parting causing sleepless nights and self-reflection.

As a whole, the songs are understated, moody affairs, with Gruver’s vocals bobbing atop the sonic waves as if buoys in the sea. (Or, since she hails from landlocked Arizona, tumbleweeds dancing in a desert breeze might make a better metaphor.) Her voice is hypnotic throughout the 10-track set, rising one moment and receding the next, turbulent yet restrained. “Glowing Grey” adds a bluesy quotient to her delivery plus adds a trumpet to the mix. Playing it yesterday caused Diane to wander into my office, asking who I was listening to, and playing it again this morning spurred her to do so again. (“I really like this,” she said. She’s now listening to the album in our sun room.) The song finds Gruver wishing away the distance that’s developed between her and her partner, if only for the night—it’s easier, sometimes, to ignore the obvious.

“Without Loving You” is another devastating spin on a relationship’s aftermath. “I don’t know what to do without loving you,” she sings, wondering if she should wait for him to change his mind despite the pain she knows such a reunion would eventually cause. “Transatlantic” digs into self-abuse, addiction, and lying to one’s self—something both the addict and their loved ones do. “Neither Do You” digs even deeper into the abyss, while “Carry My Weight” offers a compromise: “Carry my weight/I’ll carry yours.” Burdens are meant to be shared, after all, not hidden or shouldered alone. “Lately” returns the album to where it began, spinning love as an addiction that she can’t break.

All in all, it’s a remarkable outing well worth one’s time.

The tracks: