THE CIVIL WARS

PARTING WAYS

The Civil Wars bow out with a bittersweet album about the emotional strains of winning relationship

by Matt Ashare |  
Published August 7, 2013

In the first few moments of the new album by the Civil Wars, a warmly resonant pairing of chorused guitar and folksy mandolin carves out a bold yet somber minor-key melody reminiscent of the subdued jangle that might just remind R.E.M. fans of the sort of thing that helped power that band's late-’80s surge. But just when it starts to feel like it's time for a beat of some kind to break the growing tension, John Paul White's humbly unadorned acoustic guitar quietly enters the picture to frame a pair of achingly confessional, romantically wounded verses by his ersatz partner in harmony, fellow songwriter Joy Williams. "I never meant to get us in this deep," she confesses with bittersweet simplicity, hinting at the details of of a tryst gone awry, or perhaps just a regrettable affair of the heart. "I never meant for this to mean a thing," she continues, "I wish you were the one, wish you were the one that got away. . . I got caught up by the chase/And you got high on every little game/I wish you were the one, wish you were the one that got away. . ."
    As if there weren't enough grist for the rumor mill in those smoldering salvos, the lines between the real and the projected are further blurred as the chorus erupts, White's gentle tenor enters the fray, and hindsight comes to the fore. "Oh, if I could go back in time/When you only held me in your mind," Williams declaims, with White's voice slowly rising in the background, "Just a longing gone without a trace/Oh, I wish I'd never seen your face."
    While it's hard to believe that those sentiments are necessarily a reflection of the genuine feelings White and Williams have or have had for each other, it's harder still to refrain from speculation. More specifically, speculation that there may be a kernel or two of truth in the the drama implicit in the song's narrative — that White and Williams are, in effect, singing to and about, rather than just with each other.   
    And so begins the gorgeously wrought, disquieting tempest that is "The Civil Wars," the second and, as it stands right now, very likely final album by the Nashville-based duo of the same name. It's a disc that comes ripe for the picking apart by anyone who's followed the trials and tribulations of White's and Williams' partnership, a winning combination that's engendered intimate close harmonies, supple songwriting, and a very nearly fairytale ascent that began when the two met at a session convened in 2008 to write material for established Music Row talent.
    What followed was a semi-viral digital EP recorded at a club in Decatur, Georgia, 2009's "Live at Eddie's Attic"; a four-song studio offering, "Poison & Wine," that was produced by seasoned Nashville dude Charlie Peacock that same year; and a whole heap of next-big-thing buzz that culminated with 2011's Peacock-produced "Barton Hollow," an independently released full-length that last year won Grammys for Best Country Duo/Group and Best Folk Album. Along the way, the Civil Wars have enjoyed something of a charmed life, touring as an opening act for Adele and Emmylou Harris, performing at the Newport Folk Festival, the Grand Ole Opry, and the White House, and co-writing material with Taylor Swift for "The Hunger Games" soundtrack. They even scored some hipster points last year by releasing a 7-inch single featuring nicely reworked covers of Michael Jackson's "Billy Jean" and Portishead's "Sour Times" for National Record Store Day, and publicly extolling the virtues of vinyl.
    Indeed, it would be supreme case of major understatement to suggest that things were lining up quite well for the Civil Wars as they entered the studio with Peacock at the helm once again to record a follow-up to "Barton Hollow." But, if "The Civil Wars," which came out earlier this week, was already lining up to be one of the more eagerly anticipated releases of 2013, then it got an unexpected and, in many ways, unpredictable boost in the notoriety department when White and Williams abruptly announced that they were parting ways in the midst of a European tour back in November. The album was nearly done, but the rest of the tour was cancelled. And management released a statement that cited, somewhat cryptically, "irreconcilable differences of ambition" for the break-up.
    Maybe it's just me, but there are two words in there — "irreconcilable" and "differences" — that, when used in tandem, bring only one thing to mind, namely grounds for a divorce to end of a legal marriage. White and Williams are indeed both married, they just happen to be married to other people. That much is clear. But, even as the album's release date approached and Williams started opening up — and on more than one occasion tearing up — in promotional interviews with critics and reporters — there remained a distinct lack of clarity about the nature of her relationship with White and the specific circumstances that led to the duo parting ways. Williams' evident sorrow about the current state of the group's affairs, along with White's outright refusal to speak publicly about the situation, coupled with the intimacy the duo projected in videos and on stage has understandably fueled quiet speculation that the Civil Wars may have been bound by more than just a passion for music.
    It's an issue that Williams hasn't been afraid to address. As she told NPR's "All Things Considered on August 2, "So many people assumed that we were married, which is not the case. " But she did concede that the idea that she and White were romantically intertwined was, "part of the sort of unforeseen myth that we inadvertently created. . . But that myth was also something that, you know, had to be dealt with and treated very carefully, because we are happily married to other people."
    Reading too much autobiography into a song or any work of fiction is a tricky proposition, one fraught with all kinds of potential miscues. And yet, it's hard to listen to "The Civil Wars," with its darker, stormier, and seemingly more probingly personal take on the discomfiting vicissitudes of romantic entanglements than the somewhat sunnier "Barton Hallow," without wondering what went down between Williams and White. If nothing else, the aura of mystery that clings to songs like "The One That Got Away," the sinewy, blues-inflected "I Had a Girl," and the quietly ruminative acoustic duet "Same Old Same Old," with its sweetly sung threats ("I'm gonna name names/I'm gonna call us out/I'm gonna say it if you won't"), does add another dimension to the dramas that play out in the lyrics. That may have been a difficult dynamic for the Civil Wars to manage — perhaps too difficult — but its an integral part of what made the duo so affecting, and effective.