Heal

Where the freewheeling Benji painted lyrical autobiographies in painstaking detail and Are We There dove headfirst into dark and sometimes overpowering emotions about toxic relationships, HEAL is a mixture of the two, a cleansing document that’s ultimately more hopeful.

That an album that sounds this vibrant and thrilling came out of such dark circumstance is a testament to the songwriting skills of Showalter. Pain never sounded so good.

The title couldn't be more appropriate--it's an album about the healing power of music, a testament from someone who made it through, a shout to keep going.

Throughout, Showalter comes over like a visionary risk-taker with nothing to lose, not to mention like a consummate frontman.

Heal is a triumph of cathartic rock. [Summer 2014, p.90]

Odd--and oddly impressive. [Jul 2014, p.81]

Heal's molten flow of grandiloquent '70s rock and '80s electronica is unstoppable. [Jul 2014, p.88]

HEAL sounds as gorgeous as a vulnerable folk rock record, but as defiant and powerful as arena rock.

Same Emotions, meanwhile, sounds like a lovingly recreated homage to the soft rock of Journey, Toto, et al. Best of all is his deeply personal tribute to the late Jason Molina. [Aug 2014, p.113]

Based on its variety and power, Strand Of Oaks’ Heal seems like that special kind of album that can serve as a temporary buffer for others just as the aforementioned artists did for Showalter.

One moment--the Jason Molina tribute “JM”--is startling enough to forgive the clunking stadium-grunge workouts that seem, conversely, to be bringing Strand of Oaks to wider attention.

On HEAL, it’s not just the lyrics that are memoiristic, but the music as well.

This is, after all, a rock album, so don’t expect anything too innovative, but do expect moments of beauty and lots of writerly oversharing.

Strand of Oaks’ particular synthesis of modern sounds with retro feels is as entertaining as it is uplifting. Just don’t expect it to stir you like the Boss can.

The album is an elegy, not to Showalter’s past but to a way of framing it, and with that frame gone these songs sound boundless, zealous, free.

Songs like "Woke Up to the Light," with its seemingly innocuous Alphaville "Forever Young"-inspired foundation and the churning "Mirage Year," the latter of which explodes into a full-on sonic assault that sounds like it must have taken weeks to clean up after, present themselves as measured and somewhat even-tempered, but like the majority of Heal, they're barely contained time capsules on the verge of catharsis, and whatever beauty they possess will ultimately burn up upon re-entry.