Ethan Daniel Davidson - Lear (2025)

Detroit-based Ethan Daniel Davidson is nothing if not prolific. ‘Lear’ is Davidson’s fourteenth studio album and, even more impressively, his second of 2025. If that earlier album, “Cordelia”, helped reinforce a reputation as a reflective songwriter, then ‘Lear’, which emerged from those same sessions, can be assumed to be a companion piece.

The album has been compared to Neil Young’s “On The Beach” insofar as it is dripping in melancholy and ache. In its tone and tempo, it hints that Cohen wouldn’t be so far wide of the mark either. Davidson is mining the dark corners of his own psyche here, and it shows. His songs have become more autobiographical, and opening track ‘Stop Breaking Down’ has Davidson reflecting on a hitchhiking youth, of bad experiences and heartache, constantly moving on. Tellingly, the writer struggles to see the world, or himself, through those eyes anymore. Lyrically, the song does feel like a confessional, and, tempo-wise, Davidson sets his stall out from the off.

‘The World We Wanted’ is a wry song looking at the looming threat of climate change. “This must be the world that we wanted, morally unsure, the border lands are all haunted, by the violence we choose to endure… our fingerprints are everywhere.” Imagine if you would here, music to accompany a cowboy atop a slow-moving horse, gently plodding across a vast landscape, with a little soft-shoe shuffle playfully thrown in for good measure. It provides a mischievous soundtrack for, arguably, the album’s most memorable offering.

A number of tracks stretch to over seven minutes, all of them slow, brooding numbers that, while never threatening to up the tempo in any fashion, still manage to leave their mark. ‘Bad Company Brought Me Here’ barely moves at more than walking pace, but this low-key track contains lovely, subdued, mournful pedal steel and organ. It is here that Davidson channels his innermost Cohen. The similarly lengthy and low-key ‘Waiting For Me’ has more of a soulful, bluesy vibe, with gospel-esque backing vocals giving way to a memorable four-minute solo by pedal steel legend Rayfield “Ray Ray” Holloman.

“Lear” is not an album to set pulses racing, but is an album that worms its way surreptitiously under the skin the more it is played. It is a dim the lights, get a glass of something to hand and let the music wash over you type of album, and there can never be enough of those in the world.