Philippe Nash beckons listeners into a drifting, half-familiar landscape with his new single “Wounded Love.” To my own mind, the four-minute track shimmers with textures of gray: the unflinching glare of steel, the raw swirls of mountain fog, the pearly accents of snow crushed into your windshield. Much of Nash’s past work has been concerned with a sense of place; his 2021 release Peel was inspired by “anthropocentric ecocide,” that is, the human-centered violence against non-human life and landscapes. It’s no surprise, then, that “Wounded Love” embodies such a sensory, place-based styling. Although the lyrics are relatively abstract, the soundscape forms a world you can practically reach out and touch. The taste of the song will stay in your mouth for days.
Hush up/It sounds like you’re telling me to give up/That’s not an easy lie to wash out
I should say this upfront, since it’s the most obvious quality of the song: Nash’s voice is unfairly beautiful. His style reminds me of the acclaimed London busker Josh Reaves, and it will have you hooked in seconds. Nash’s voice is husky and raw yet expertly controlled as he darts from one syllable to the next. The vocals are placed over a steady acoustic guitar spine. The instrumentals simmer softly beneath the vocals, giving Nash plenty of room to spread his voice out and lure the listener in. As the song progresses, the instrumentals are filled in more to create a jangling, folksy feel that cushions the increasing intensity of the vocals.
Put my voice in a bed/Press it down with my own two hands/Do you wanna see it?
Lyrically, “Wounded Love” finds its narrator seemingly in retreat, seeking a place where they can escape a sense of overwhelming loneliness. I found that the lyrical crux of the song to be the phrase “I won’t live anymore alone,” which appears both in the chorus and the outro. What I find so chilling and essential about the lyric is that it can be interpreted in opposite ways. Upon first listen, I read “I won’t live anymore alone” as, like, “Hey! I’m not going to live alone anymore. I’m going to find my people.” But on second listen, I read it as the opposite. Suddenly, “I won’t live anymore alone” sounded like, “There is literally no way to live that feels more alone than this. I have capped out on alone-ness. I have mastered the art of living completely alone, and it freaking sucks.” Nash’s anguished tone toward the end of the song supports the second reading — but his gentle rendition in the opening chorus supports the first. It’s pretty neat stuff.
Lying in the deep of the mountain/Birds have been calling me home/I won’t live anymore alone
This track is somehow both drifting and agile, attentive and unmoored. Nash embraces these complexities with unapologetic focus. It’s one of my favorite releases of the new year, and it just might become one of yours too.
