Another Green World

For the past half-dozen years, when Everest wasn't overseeing the Thursday night jazz/electronic showcase Crossfaded at the Dinkytowner, running his local record label Firetrunk, or playing in any number of bands including Lateduster and Sensational Joint Chiefs, he was satisfying his wanderlust. In Russia, he studied literature; in the UK, he performed with the local Ninja Tune band Fog; in Alaska, he collaborated with the Minneapolis-based modern dance company Catalyst. Early next month, you'll find him onstage at the 400 Bar, joining the jazz collective Neotropic. So when Everest sings on his new solo album Hush Money (Firetrunk), "You said, you've gotta move mountains/You've gotta breathe mountain air," he's either commenting on his own work ethic or plotting a way to escape urban itineraries.

Hush Money finds Everest sending the listener a series of postcards. On the back of the album, he has taken a photo of an empty beachfront, beckoning Wish you were here to those who can only vacation through cable television. And the photo on the front cover is a snapshot of solitude, with Everest sprawled out within some erasable space in the ether that doubles as a snow bank. He's not far from a cluster of trees--or some semblance of civilization--with only a backpack by his side.

Everest travels light, constructing a full band out of a suitcase full of effect pedals. As his acoustic guitar snaps like a levee, out pours the clang and ripple of drums. Birds chirp their way through the acoustic number "Otterbelly Fin," bidding good morning to our backpacker and sounding off on his electro-acoustic reveille. Elsewhere, Everest's world-weary musings are woolly-soft; barely discernible in his quiet utterances, but deeply felt. Lines like "Quiet in my conscience" and "Oh to take a chance" come across as everyday Zen mantras--fodder for all of those Saturday-evening-to-Sunday-afternoons spent counting stars and connecting the dots between emotion and thought. "What I feel is what I find," Everest sings on "Crater Recon," repeating the line until feeling and finding are one.

Between the wafer-thin guitar of "De Resistance" and the vibraphone swing of "Astro Turf," Hush Money proves that, wherever he's standing, Everest is creating atmosphere. We can all benefit from a little white noise, whether it's the whir of crickets or airplanes overhead. And Everest's cerebral travels are as valuable as frequent-flyer miles. Even when he's inviting us to the corner of the sun on the album's finale, we feel like we're already there.