You could say Elvis Perkins has been kicked in the shins by life a bit. His father, the gay actor Anthony “Norman Bates” Perkins, was an early celebrity casualty of AIDS; his mother, photographer and model Berry Berenson, was on one of the passenger jets that smashed into the World Trade Center. So it’s hardly a surprise that Ash Wednesday, the 31-year-old’s debut, is a rather sad-hearted affair, illuminated by Perkins's breathily intense vocals and plangent strumming. Still, the record is shot through with moments of tentative hope: ‘May Day’ coasts on a jaunty melody as he barks in the style of a ‘20s carnival impresario; ‘While You Were Sleeping’ demonstrates the singer’s gift for softly wrenching melody. He can swagger too: ‘Night & The Liqour’ is a pungent fairground lurcher with a distinct Tom Waits whiff, while 'Emile’s Vietnam In The Sky’ recalls The Decemberists in its understated luminosity.
Ultimately, there’s no getting past the thick layer of grief that cakes Ash Wednesday. Far from plunging down a sinkhole of the soul, however, Perkins has struck a note of quiet defiance. Grief becomes him.