More ambitious than on past efforts, Watson slips through quiet night spaces, and like Sendak's Max, puts on his wolf suit, making mischief of one kind, then another, until Wooden Arms flares with his vibrant energy.
Wooden Arms, on the other hand, bears the sound of something far more collaborative and just that little bit more complete. Our refound love for musical vanguards should therefore also extend to Patrick Watson.
It's Watson's voice we're missing most from the overwhelming instrumentation, and after hearing the Buckley-esque transcendence that his vocals are capable of, it's more than disappointing to hear them take second chair. [Spring 2009, p.106]