What does a man possess if that man possesses nothing? The clothes on his back, the tool(s) of his trade, and the comfort of the road. For a man proclaiming to be perpetually traveling—without a home—one wonders what C.J. Boyd has beyond the simplest means to identify himself. But maybe it’s the wrong question. Not to get all Tyler Durden, but we have become possessed by our possessions. I’m not giving up anything hard-gained, but I can’t help but feel that C.J. Boyd is passionately (if exhaustively) living out the nomad in all of us.
But it renders his music breathtaking. That is literal. Every time I put the needle down on his records, all the air goes straight to the abyss of Boyd’s rumbling bass. It feeds on it like fire, belching up a smoke stack as it washes over the room. The Space Between Us serves as a 14-minute teaser to Boyd’s upcoming album but is greater served as its own entity. Two 7-minute tracks of menacing, hard-knuckled musings that hum like the pavement underneath Boyd’s tires. There is no need for wanton mentions of life on the road or unending weariness; the excesses of classic rock stardom do not weigh heavy on Boyd’s conscious. His life as a vagabond is chosen because to survive in music today, you must be a road warrior or a hit maker. Boyd’s craft is not the latter and be glad it isn’t. These are hits of a different caliber, and the power within these 14-minutes speaks volumes of what true gifts Boyd possesses. They are more valuable than just about any commodity I own.
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