#alice deejay

Those already familiar with Johnston’s work might find No Depression in Heaven even more soothing than 2021’s excellent Luminol. That album built its way towards gradual eruptions given starker relief and greater impact by the haziness of their surroundings. Here, the music’s embrace is even more measured and gentle, to the point where “Vanessa” (an ode to Johnston’s dearly departed touring van) starting with a prominent if not particularly aggressive drum machine rhythm counts as a jarring shift. That drum machine is recorded with a kind of precise fuzz that makes it feel as if the whole thing is clogged with sand that each beat dislodges a bit more of. Johnston is also an audio engineer and, as always, the sound of Midwife is impeccably sculpted. The primary elements are still patient webs of guitar and a voice heard through a disembodied rotary phone receiver (see, kids, before cell phones…); a few friends chime in with additional guitar and once even with synth, but nothing disturbs the stately, beautifully suspended atmosphere.

That’s not a complaint; even more than Luminol, No Depression in Heaven builds up such a heady and consistent ambience that you can relax into it like a warm bath. These are frequently songs of sorrow, like the funereal “Droving” (which turns “every dog has its day… run like hell” into a stirring valediction as it creeps along), or “Killdozer”’s poetic inversion of perspective into a genuine, weird American tragedy. The closing title track has lyrics that consist or just the repeated word “crying” and sung laughter, and yet the impact is somehow reassuring. There’s something communal in the sadness here.

Even when Johnston turns her hand to covers, they don’t cause any undue ripples in the overall tone. Alice Deejay’s immortal Eurodance hit “Better Off Alone” might not seem like the most obvious fit, but underneath the bosh, it’s always had a surprisingly humane lilt to it that Johnston brings out. Rowland S. Howard’s “Autoluminescent” may be the most bombastic set of lyrics here, but she gives it a soft, burnished glow. Like her own songs, these contributions are folded into a kind of endless, floating, gorgeous melancholy. One largely constructed from the same instrument Johnston cradles on that cover.