The Mortal Prophets Blur Folk Memory and Electric Shadow

John Beckmann approaches “The Mortal Prophets” more like a musical entity than a band. Every record is more about atmosphere and setting, with songs playing like episodes from short stories that take place on the highways of the desert or in dimly lit rooms. “Americana” is there, but it’s not nostalgic. It’s like the guitars are worn, the voices are drifting, and the electronic elements are sneaking into the corners.

Beckmann’s prose is strongly suggestive. The lyrics draw on mysticism, poetry, and late-night trains of thought, leaving room for interpretation. You can hear nods towards Eno and Fripp in the ambient textures, the constant propulsion of kosmische music beneath it all, and glimmers of Pink Floyd in their earlier incarnation in the melodic lines. But it all comes down with a sense of clarity, never succumbing to abstraction for abstraction’s sake.

For anyone who likes artists such as Nick Cave, David Sylvian, or the darker side of Talk Talk, there is plenty to immerse oneself in here. The Mortal Prophets are a group whose sounds are perhaps better digested slowly, perhaps late at night, in the same way you might view an old film noir or a well-worn novel.