Wes Parker - Super Rare

Countless artists drop confessional albums to air their dirty laundry. Wes Parker, however, is not one of them. Part of the allure of listening to the skillfully melodic songs on his album, Super Rare (out June 5th, via Big Machine Rock), is figuring out where his characters end and Parker begins. This narrative obscuring lends a unique palette to Parker’s work, which subtly pendulates between cautionary and escapist.

“I don’t want to be ham-fisted, and I hesitate to say a song is about one thing or another,” he says, thoughtfully. “I might write with something in mind, but it’s like a cloud in the sky. People are going to see different shapes in it.” So that makes you, listener, a pivotal part of his storytelling process.

And Parker is right there alongside you. Super Rare — the Richmond, Virginia, native’s first solo album (his previous band, the indie-rock Camp Howard, amicably split in 2021) — is a mix of curiosity, observation, vulnerability, and an almost zen acceptance of the messiness that comes from simplywalking this earth. “It’s a lot of vignettes of people or personified emotions in my life,” he says. Those tableaux inhabit an array of aesthetics: humbled reflections underscored by Americana, folkie parables about eccentric strangers, and heartbreaking tales filtered through art-rock. To balance it all out, his character, DJ Charlie Horse, also makes a few appearances.

The earthy, indie-rock “Tattoo” kicks off with a harmonica, clearing the way for Parker to modestly navigate “an opiate past and the characters in that, and where I would maybe be if I hadn’t dragged myself out of that.” The anthemic “Split Ends” is the ultimate sing-along for anyone who’s ever been heartsick, joining “Little Birdie,” a harmonic nugget of wistfulness, on the receiving end of dejection. And the off-kilter lament “Dinosaur Park” recounts the tragic, true-crime story of Susan Powell and her disappearance in Utah in 2009. Parker was haunted by her story after hearing it on a podcast during a road trip with his friends. “I hesitated to write a song about violence against women,” he says, “but I was moved by the story, which was just so tragic.” To that end, his repeated lyric, “Mommy stayed the night where the crystals grow,” is possibly the most gutting moment on this album. (continue reading full bio on our DISCO)

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