Lambchop - The Bible (2LP)

Lambchop’s The Bible arrived on October 14, 2022, via Merge in the U.S. and City Slang in Europe, and it feels like a late-career swerve pulled off with real grace. Kurt Wagner has been reshaping this Nashville institution for years, from the minimalist hush of Is a Woman to the vocoder haze of FLOTUS. Here he leans into collaboration with Minneapolis mainstays Andrew Broder and Ryan Olson, whose fingerprints are all over the record’s moody electronics, hushed pianos, and brass that glows like neon at closing time. It’s a city-crossing conversation that suits him. The Bible is reflective but restless, spiritual in tone without getting preachy, and surprisingly playful in the margins.

“His Song Is Sung” eases the door open in that way Lambchop has perfected, Wagner’s voice slightly treated, the piano patient, the arrangement growing like a dimmer being slid up. You hear what Broder and Olson bring right away. The production folds in subtle drum programming and vapor-light textures, not showy, just enough to suspend the song in a new kind of space. When the horns move in, they don’t blare. They shade. It’s the softest introduction to a record that keeps tugging you closer.

“Little Black Boxes” hits harder. Wagner has been writing around American clutter for decades, and this one stares at the detritus of events and headlines and yard signs, then smirks through the ache. The rhythm snaps. Voices stack. It’s Lambchop doing a kind of baroque soul music, with the Minneapolis crew tightening the screws while leaving air in the room. Then there’s “Dylan at the Mousetrap,” a title that sounds like a joke until you hear the song’s quiet ache. Wagner’s always been good at animating small civic scenes, and this one feels like a barroom story that never resolves, just lingers in the smoke.

What’s striking is how alive the ensemble feels. Lambchop used to carry an army of players, and even as the roster has shifted, the sense of community remains. The Bible keeps the piano at its core while letting brass and reeds bloom in careful bursts. Guitars stay out of the way, or glance off the beat with a country-jazz twang. The electronics hum like a light in a church basement. It’s not a drastic reinvention so much as a patient recalibration. After the MIDI experiments of 2021’s Showtunes, this album moves back toward flesh-and-blood playing without losing the digital shimmer.

Critics picked up on that balance. Coverage from Pitchfork, The Guardian, and other long-trusting outlets praised the warmth of the writing and the sly way these arrangements carry weight. You can hear the craft in how the record sequences its moods. A mid-album stretch settles into balladry that recalls the tufted hush of Mr. M, but the production keeps twinkling at the edges, like streetlights passing through rain. When the tempo lifts again, it does so with a small grin rather than a jolt.

Wagner’s voice remains the constant. It’s papery and humane, never forced, and it carries an everyman wisdom that makes the album title feel mischievous. He’s not laying down commandments. He’s cataloguing feelings that slip through the day and stick around at night. The songs move with a walker’s pace, observant and wry, which lets little lines hit harder than you expect. By the end, the record feels like a long conversation that took a few surprising turns and left you a little lighter.

If you’re eyeing The Bible vinyl, you’ll be happy to know this music breathes on wax. The low-end thrum and brushed percussion sit warm, and the horns in particular bloom in a way that flatters a good setup. Lambchop albums on vinyl tend to reward late-night listens, and this one might be the most “lights low, needle down” record they’ve made in years. I’ve seen copies move fast at my local Melbourne record store, and friends hunting vinyl records Australia-wide keep asking when more are coming in. If you’re trying to buy Lambchop records online, don’t sleep on it. The Bible is a keeper, and it plays like a chapter marker in a catalog that’s already full of quiet landmarks. For longtime fans it’s a gentle thrill. For newcomers it’s a welcoming door. Either way, it’s Lambchop doing what they do best: letting small moments glow.