Portland-based singer-songwriter Holcombe Waller‘s music has consistently been likened to that of Nick Drake, Jeff Buckley, and Antony Hegarty (of Antony and the Johnsons) throughout his career. Sure, some biographical parallels surface (theater thoroughly interests both Hegarty and Waller, and a solid case can be made for the sonic similarities between Waller’s high-pitched cooing and Drake’s signature style), but the primary and important quality the artists all share is the minimal, yet inescapable, raw and emotion-ridden aspect of their music that so many try and fail to emulate. An attentive listen to Waller’s latest work, Into the Dark Unknown, cements the case for comparison, as he masterfully tells a heart-wrenching tale of overcoming self-defeatism and the obstacles of daily life, finally putting up a fight against the onslaught of societal adversity.

The album begins with solemn imagery: a boy trying to break free from the confines of a substance-induced prison, and a sedate, unfulfilled life. The chorus toys with Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged and its rational selfishness, bemoaning the fate of Atlas, who “just shrugged, he’s going back to the drugs”, rendering him a helpless victim trapped without identity amidst an indifferent society. That novel continues as a theme, especially as “Atlas” focuses almost exclusively on Waller’s androgynous soprano with a subtle guitar and stringed accompaniment. This serves the heavy lyrical content well, allowing it to fully encompass the listener. Sporadic moments of accentuated strings punctuate the space between verses, but the focal point of the piece is intended to be Waller, and, through the arrangement, is just that.

Strumming guitar and lyrics alluding to “home on the range” results in “Risk of Change” playing like a typical folk ballad, a universally applicable telling of collective history. Its haunting backup vocals cooing “on my way,” and a chorus referencing a conversation about Jeff Buckley reinforce this idea, only furthered as Waller insists “you must walk to that dark place,” encouraging the audience, and perhaps himself, to gather the courage to finally face the problems within. The difference with Waller, though, is that tracks like these are followed with intricately orchestrated outings such as “The Unicorn”, where piano and subtle, slow string crescendos share the spotlight with his vocals, which climb into impressively high ranges. These juxtapositions demonstrate not only what a classical composer who makes folk music looks like, but how immensely powerful the combination can be.

“Hardliners” offers a glimmer of hope amongst the weighty previous tracks that permeate the remainder of the album, with his quivering voice nearly speaking. “There’s no doubt that you are mine” he moans, before emphatically repeating “I won’t stop loving.” The whining cello in the background contrasts the upbeat percussion effectively, conveying the emotional exhaustion of arguing and resolving problems with a lover; There is misery in the process, and happiness in the resolution.

The next song, “Qu’Appelle Valley, Saskatchewan”, abruptly upsets the ambiance of the album, with its upbeat tribal drums and strong, forceful wailing. Into the Dark Unknown, though, was not originally an album, but a theater production funded and performed at the Portland Institute for Contemporary Art, explaining this seemingly random theatrical piece. The variety only enriches and deepens the reach of the album, allowing the listener to visualize the original context of the music, adding another sense to the already incredibly stimulating soundscape.

Into the Dark Unknown is not an original album in content, for the struggles with identity and overcoming societal burden are eternal. It is in this universality, though, and the way Waller successfully puts to words and delicate melodies the dark experiences and memories that most people are afraid to face and verbalize, that makes it such a resounding success. Holcombe Waller’s eloquent narratives and impassioned delivery empower each and every one of us to fearlessly face our own dark unknown, and the resulting catharsis is life-affirming, nothing short of inspiring. The title of the original theatrical production had an addendum: The Hope Chest. The omission of this piece of the name was an interesting decision, for that is exactly what this album is. Waller’s melodies sound like psalms at a church service, ultimately uplifting in the triumph of toil, and the consistently understated instrumentation lets said psalms command complete attention, piercing the depths of the soul with their messages. Heartbreak, lost friendships, and withering family relations are sometimes inevitable struggles of life, but with the Dark Unknown‘s closing tracks and an uncharacteristic upbeat piano melody alongside Waller’s reassuring that “Hey, hey, hey I’m alright,” we know we will be too.