Apocrypha

Dublin-born, thirty years an immigrant. That's the spine of henryohenry's debut, Apocrypha, not as a concept but as a condition. He's spent three decades in the United States working in the trades, absorbing the country's mythologies and building what he calls "an idiosyncratic American language" out of them, something closer to Whitman's vision than what he found. He is, by his own account, "formally and informally not a musician" — all but two of the songs were written on a $6 charity-shop guitar with a repaired headstock and strings that distorted unpredictably. It doesn't appear on the record. Produced by filmmaker Rick Alverson, the album is anchored by guitarist Eamon O'Leary and his son Ned Steves, recording together for the first time, without rehearsal. Erik Hall mixed and contributed overdubs; Emilie Rex of Lean Year lends harmonies to three songs; poet Callie Garnett appears on another. Album standout "There" captures something harder to name: how powerful feelings drive you to the page, and how the thing you make can outlast the feelings that made it. "It feels like a triumph over something," he says, "even if you're a bit embarrassed by some of the sentiment."

Apocrypha arrives as a debut but carries the patience of a life lived in full. For fans of John Cale, Nick Drake, Leonard Cohen.

01 Colorado

02 There

03 The Fool

04 Henry and Celia

05 Hours

06 Spanish Girl

07 Parade

08 Driveway

09 These Idyllic Things