Jonah Matranga, And

That Jonah Matranga, he’s certainly come a long way over the years. He’s gone from fronting critically-acclaimed nu-metal act Far to sweet, romantic, emo-pop as Onelinedrawing to post-hardcore supergroup New End Original to…this? Honestly, die-hard Matranga fans are going to be somewhat thrown off by And, his latest solo release, because it’s, well, a country album.

Actually, that’s not fair. The songs on And are indeed countryish, with shuffling drums, subtle slide guitar, delicate piano, and a significantly slower, mellower pace than even a lot of his more folky work. Matranga even incorporates some Teenage Fanclub-esque guitar melodies from time to time, as on “Waving Or Drowning?” The one track that sounds like the guy’s “old” music is the roaring guitar-rock “Not About A Girl Or A Place” (the zombie-gore video for which was done by Houston filmmaker Mel House and is apparently now up on Fuse), which couples a gorgeous melody with bitter, love-gone-wrong lyrics; it’s the only song on And that brings to mind New End Original, by a long stretch.

Beyond that, Matranga seems to have taken a turn lyrically, as well. The songs here are vulnerable, less self-confident, and sometimes almost pleading (“I Want You To Be My Witness”), showcasing a songwriter who’s less sure of his place in the world but is still desperately trying to find it. This is fairly soul-baring stuff, even for a guy who’s built his career on wearing his heart on his sleeve. And is a contemplative album, one that sees Matranga wrestling not with his usual demons but with maturity and fatherhood and family, the issues everyone has to cope with when we become adults. One of the album’s highlights is “Every Mistake,” a smiling admonition from Matranga to his young daughter to not worry about getting things right all the time but learn to fall gracefully and get back up again; it hits straight in the chest, honest and poignant.

Most surprising of all is album closer “Lost, Then Found,” where Matranga takes a long, hard look at the life of a father he doesn’t seem to have known very well. He’s made a career out of essentially writing about himself and his own feelings, so it’s refreshing and captivating to hear him methodically dissect the life, loves, and failures of someone else. The song pulls no punches but in a bleak way succeeds as a heartfelt meditation on the arc of a man’s life.

In fact, nearly all of And succeeds, an impressive feat considering the left turn Matranga’s made with this release. Here he proves the theory that genre, volume, and instrumentation really don’t count for all that much, as long as you’re one heck of a songwriter.