Delayed Plays: Marigold by Paul Givant

The past few days have found me traveling through the hinterlands of memory and music, to a time when deejays played soft serenades and TV commercials hawked mellow gold on LPs, 8-tracks and cassettes. Gordon Lightfoot, Seals & Crofts, Roberta Flack, Maria Muldaur, Melissa Manchester, even country crooners like Charlie Rich, breezed across the airwaves and “easy listening” collections, their mood-inducing tunes meant for life’s more laidback moments. Akin to liquid crystals, the gentle melodies and rhythms flickered from amber to violet, green to blue, and only rarely to gray or black.

You’ll be forgiven if, whether on the first or 50th listen, you momentarily mistake Paul Givant’s Marigold, his second solo outing, for a lost treasure from that long-gone era. The folk-flavored songs and arrangements, plus his pleasant tenor, remind me of the adult-minded music made by such stalwarts as Jackson Browne and Dan Fogelberg during the 1970s. Some celebrate love, others trade in introspection, while a few glance with askance at the wider world.

Paul Givant, for those unfamiliar with him, is the lead singer-songwriter of acclaimed Americana ensemble Rose’s Pawn Shop, whose last album conjured Chris Hillman’s Desert Rose Band to my ears. The country and bluegrass elements are lessened here, with more straightforward folk-rock on full display. The title cut, which opens the 11-track set, is a good example; it celebrates the ability of love to inject color into what often seems to be a monochrome world.

“Tripping on the Moon” finds him ditching matters l’amour for those of the mind and spirit, while—like a summer breeze blowing through jasmine—“21 Seconds” recalls a sweet moment when his heart and future opened wide. “Tidal Wave” reminds me of the rock-oriented tracks that tended to close Dan Fogelberg’s albums in the 1970s, such as “The River,” “As the Raven Flies” and “Loose Ends.” “What You’ve Given Me,” which follows, slows things down while celebrating the friends and mentors who’ve lent him a hand through the years. “Rain in Los Angeles,” meanwhile, revisits love in the age of quarantine, while the ringing guitars that accent “Awake” usher in a big dose of psychedelic references. “Crabtree Meadow at Dusk,” on the other hand, celebrates a healthier approach to altering one’s consciousness: visiting a picturesque meadow found on the High Sierra Trail in Sequoia National Park.

To an extent, the earnest “On the Eve of a New War” flips the script, with Givant stepping into the shoes of those stuck in the war zones that sadly litter these times: “On the eve of a new war I’m bracing for mourning.” “Cloud Avenue” steps back from such heady concerns to focus on matters closer to home; it’s a song, I think, many of us will hear ourselves in. The album closes with the moving “Holding You Up,” about being there for his partner.

All in all, it’s a strong album that stands up to repeated plays. One need not be familiar with the singers and songs of long ago to appreciate the inherent charms of Marigold, I hasten to add, though I suspect soft-rock aficionados will appreciate it the most.