David Ramirez’s early releases, steeped in folk and Americana, couldn’t have foreshadowed the route his music would take after 2015’s outstanding Fables. Flying under the radar, Ramirez has been a songwriter’s songwriter, winning acclaim for his open, often direct lyricism. In 2017, he took a surprising turn, bringing in synths for an unexpected and retro sound in We’re Not Going Anywhere.
Three years later, with the R&B of My Love Is a Hurricane, he expanded his approach further. After a detour to sing his gospel roots, he returns as if stating a complete transformation. All the Not So Gentle Reminders makes for his most diverse record yet, bringing in an array of pop (in the classic sense) without sacrificing either the lyrical impact or the vocal skill that marks each of his releases.
“Maybe It Was All a Dream” opens the record with a hazy, mostly instrumental section that, coupled with the song’s title, suggests that his past music was the prelude, something from another artist. It wasn’t, of course, and the pieces of his stylistic shifting fit together nicely. It does establish Reminders as an album to mark, though whether it is the capstone of this era or the start of a new one remains to be seen.
The following track returns Ramirez to more traditional rock, his voice immediately explaining where he is: “I’m over the anger, the sadness, all the not-so-gentle reminders.” History matters, but as he stands “waiting on the dust to settle,” he looks forward to a light, to something new. The song details the moment just after the epiphany, having come through something with a new vision but not quite into the new place yet. He’s supported by background vocals, turning the recognition into a sort of propulsive mantra.
From that vantage point, David Ramirez becomes free to explore whatever he wants however he wants (never at the sacrifice of aesthetic unity, held in part by his always impressive vocals). If he turns in a singular direction, it’s toward a sort of historical pop that never quite existed, something less cheesy than lounge, more cinematic than Randy Newman or Jackson Browne (the newly discovered strings add to that effect), less technical than jazz, but trending that way at times. Perhaps he puts it best himself, describing himself as the titular figure in “The Music Man”, born out of the gift of a Walkman.
“Holiday (Crush)” finds him in his most unlikely setting, leaning toward 1990s pop-rock, but it works well for him. That it sits comfortably with the indie-folk of “Deja Voodoo” or the jazz-pop sounds of “Dreams Come True” testifies to Ramirez’s gifts as both a songwriter and a vocalist. He could have been on the radio in just about any decade from the 1940s on (and should get more airplay now).
The album shifts thinking about his artistic lineage. Without dropping his folk origins, David Ramirez proves himself capable of being a stage singer in continually new ways. The proper connections might go more toward someone like Tom Waits, with his theatrical sensibility, or Warren Zevon. Wherever he’s headed, Ramirez has left us with his own not-so-gentle reminders that he explores restlessly, always finding new means of expression without sacrificing quality.