cricket chirps. A guitar is leisurely plucked. Matt Ward has returned. Yeah, so what if he lives in Portland, Oregon? It may be some physical distance from the backwoods and bayous where he might be ravishing his sister on a daily basis in another life, but there's a genuine love and commensurate talent here for making early 20th century music relevant to the future's hearts and brains. Initially inspired by a song played at a memorial service for his hero John Fahey (which Ward described as "joy and sadness equal") Transfiguration... is Ward's questioning tour of love and death. Not that he would actually sing about anything else.


It’s his third time out, making this is the litmus test (at least in the eyes of critics who have a penchant for worthy and considered songcraft) as to whether he can join the rank of such respected songwriters as Bill Callahan, Will Oldham and of course, his sometime sponsor Howe Gelb. It’s this critic’s opinion that he does, and not only that: he moves from rough and sedated to a surprising sweet sound completely effortlessly.


After the boozy and furious "Vincent O'Brien", Ward serves up the gut-churning, primeval stew that is “Sad, Sad Song”- a song deserving of the Tom Waits comparisons he's been bombarded with (they stand up - if only Waits had one of his testicles removed). Then, as if to show off how much of a talented bastard he is, immediately switches on the piercing falsetto, for “Undertaker,” alternating the grit with the honey, but maintaining the same sorrowful pitch.


Ward’s controlled voice never falters or fails, which makes his words of wisdom drill into the soul with unquestionable power: whether he's struggling with his beloved, "I said momma please/ What do you do when your true love leaves?/She said the hardest thing in the world to do/ Is to find somebody who believes in you", promising redemption to the deceased, 'You're a free man at last/ At last dead man, you are free', (“Dead Man”) or cheerfully decapitating small creatures, "Met a playful little bird/ And then off with its head/ Off with its head/ Oh my" (“Outta My Head”). But it’s not all gloom and doom: on “Fool Says” Ward coos sweetly over guitar chug: "I ain't never met anyone like you before/ I thought all the good ones were gone" (though the title may betray how he really feels about falling in love).


As in life, the euphoria and tears overlap and blend. Ward is backed by dolorous and atmospheric, minimal and leisurely playing by his band- again investing it with that 'timeless' quality (though I suspect the term 'timeless' merely signals to someone reading a review the impression: 'It sounds old but it's been made in the 21st century and I still like it, so...').


But it’s not about the lyrics or the way the music is played. It’s how it makes you feel. And M. Ward does this. He makes life's appalling cruelties and mistakes beautiful and seeks out the perversity in melancholy, whilst driving a rusty spike through the chests of all false and fashionable pretenders by filtering everything that's decent and life-enriching about the traditions of folk, country, blues and rock into a refreshing and seamless whole. It reminds us we can't have the pleasure without the pain, and that the unpredictability of it all makes our existence seem more intoxicating and enjoyable. He doesn't so much as assault the senses as leave the listener to chew on the cud and consider life's infinite variety.


Transfiguration... takes me away. Away from my shitty, squalid hometown, away from this evil technology that conspires against me and places me far from the fashions (music, clothes, whatever) that consume all of us. For that, I'm more than thankful. Far out in the country, people like Ward and Sam Beam of Iron and Wine are producing revelatory and quietly revolutionary music. There is no doubt, these unsung heroes are already saving lives and filling up empty hearts in their infancy of their careers.