“Stormy Late Fall,” the title track of Campfires‘ new seven inch, clocks in at a mere one minute and nineteen seconds. If we notice this before we give the record a spin, and consider that it was released in 2009, we are bound to expect one of two things: a) a “two-minute” scuzzy rock anthem that rages so hard that it passes out face-down in its best friend’s bathtub before hitting the final refrain, or b) something that never really wanted to add up to a pop song anyway, a collage of field recordings and half-baked melody lines that peters out like car radio slipping out of range. So which would you rather do if you were a one-man song from lo-fi Chicago, steeped in cassette culture and its affinity for shorter run-times and rapid-fire release schedules? Would you rather burn out or fade away? Jeff Walls, who cites the evocative impact of short format fiction as one of his inspirations, actually does neither. His music operates more like a tightly pulled shot of a espresso on a late autumn afternoon: all richness and warmth going down, with an aftertaste so strong you never notice that it’s over.
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