It is sad that Glen Hansard has still not reached the level of studio recordings that we expect of him longingly, but the albums are getting better and better, and the songs are more and more connected to his melancholic masculine music appearance, so with each new album, we’re really looking forward to hear the next one.

If it is to simply joy… if it is about melodic guitar goings down on the principle of an underemotional not destructions, but a mere acceptance of painful truths with a dose of eternal discomfort and anger, and a bit of goodwill, because the sacrifice for love is still worth of itself…  if it is about the carefully orchestrated segments inside a song that will make it even larger than its basic essence was (and this is happening more than once)… and if it is about the hypnotic disarming voice that sounds desperate more than any poet had ever been desperate and hurt in the mirror of his poetic hero…  then Glen Hansard is, in this case, on this album, the man who responded to his lyrical self in the only language he truly understands.