Though it comes with a download ticket to be redeemed at Knick Knack Records‘ webstore, Mystery Ship guitarist Michael Wohl‘s new single, Moonfeeder b/w Song of Impermanence, makes yet another compelling argument in the long settled debate of physical versus non-physical media. Once you’ve soaked in the early-20th-Century-looking fonts on the front and back covers, the prevailing impression the 7″ 45RPM two-songer makes is not of being a relic, but of being homemade. On the cover, you can feel the raised places where the ink of Adam Burke‘s art was screenprinted on, and while the recording itself is somewhat cleaner and less bedroom-folk than Wohl‘s Eight Pieces for Solo Guitar digital and tape release — having been recorded by Wohl and Gordon Raphael (Regina Spektor, The Strokes, Sky Cries Mary, etc.) — with a genuine sense of the room in which it was made or at very least the fancy-seeming microphone that picked up the resonance of Wohl‘s guitar, it also credits Jeff Powell of Memphis’ Ardent Studios for cutting the vinyl plate, so a human element is never far off.

Of course, with an approach so intimate, that most likely wouldn’t have been a concern anyway. Wohl sings in Mystery Ship as well, and listening to the original “Moonfeeder,” I can’t help but wonder when he might try his hand at troubadour-ing with his solo work as well, but thus far he’s resisted the temptation. Still, where Eight Pieces was a collection of experiments, these are well-conceived and plucked folk songs, the B-side derived on the fly with stated inspiration from Charley Patton, Blind Lemon Jefferson and Doc Watson. As he did last time out and as I hope he continues to do going forward, Wohl includes his own liner notes with the single, a brief notation on key — “Moonfeeder” is in D minor, “Song of Impermanence” in open D — and a little bit about each song. “Moonfeeder” is the shorter and more melancholic of the two, but even so, it retains some movement and an underlying sweetness of melody and rhythm, though while it starts out minimal and somewhat ominous, the bulk of the bounce arrives somewhere around the middle of “Song of Impermanence,” which begs for a soft blues delivery, sans feigned twang but given to storytelling.

Moonfeeder b/w Song of Impermanence is a quick, picturesque release that does little to convey the stereotyped grit or rain-soaked depressiveness of Wohl‘s Seattle base of operation, but maybe escapism is part of the appeal in creating a work like this. If I have one regret as regards the single, it’s that there isn’t more to get lost in.

Michael Wohl, Moonfeeder b/w Song of Impermanence (2014)

Michael Wohl on Bandcamp

Knick Knack Records