Liberty / Lindi Ortega

On her seventh recording, the Canadian country singer spins a wild, Spaghetti Western-style yarn about heartbreak, revenge, and redemption. Liberty could be a person. Or maybe it’s a place, or a horse. Whoever or whatever the name signifies, it’s the animating concept behind Canadian country singer Lindi Ortega’s seventh full-length—a narrative record that spins a wild yarn, not unlike Willie Nelson’s Red Headed Stranger or Kenny Rogers’ Gideon. Ortega follows her unnamed protagonist through the open deserts of the American West as she rides a wild palomino from heartbreak to revenge and ultimately to redemption. It’s tempting to read this story of escape as autobiographical, especially given the way Ortega has elsewhere connected her onstage “country gothic noir” persona to her real-life body dysmorphia. But Liberty is about more than retelling personal war stories. In its twangy guitar, galloping drums, sun-baked palette, and high-plains drama, it’s a nuanced and often irreverent spin on Spaghetti Western films and their soundtracks. She’s celebrating her artistic freedom by showing us how an old pop-culture tradition can be made new and vibrant. Naturally, Ennio Morricone looms large. The overtures that preface each of Liberty’s three acts practically quote the man who gave us the soundtracks to The Good, the Bad & the Ugly and most of The Hateful Eight. Working with producer Skylar Wilson (Justin Townes Earle, Caitlin Rose), a small team of songwriters including John Paul White, and the Nashville guitar duo Steelism, Ortega emphasizes mood as much as story, as though the desert were a state of mind rather than a place. Night is always falling on these songs, bringing it with the menace of the unseen but also the promise of a brighter morning. “Don’t come any closer to my heart, if you’re afraid of the dark,” she sings on the first full song, offering a wicked wink to the Technicolor arrangement. As that wonderfully over-the-top line makes clear, neither Ortega nor any of her collaborators is afraid to veer toward Old West kitsch in these songs, whether it’s the Hazlewood-level reverb on her vocals or the chimes-and-whistling theme on “Afraid of the Dark.” That sense of dress-up may be the album’s most endearing quality, underscoring the playfulness of the music and storytelling. “You Ain’t Foolin’ Me” crackles with crunchy power chords, which bring to mind Young Guns rather than Once Upon a Time in the West. And “Pablo” interrupts its ode to an unusually gifted guitarist with a surf-rock guitar solo. Historical or musical accuracy, thank goodness, isn’t really a concern. ~ Pitchfork - Stephen Deusner

Price: $18.98