At the beginning of his song, "Somewhere In Colorado," Nathan Reich writes about a storm that's coming. It's going to be a real ripper. The force that it's going to possess is going to be something fierce. He can see the winds picking up by the increased bustling of the leaves on the tree outside of his window. He's closing the windows and he's intending to try to grab some sleep, in preparation for what's about to hit, knowing that he might need the strength for whatever's going to be on the other end of it. It's nothing real though. It's the storm that he dreams about. It's the one that's always so threatening, the one that's feared - just like you look at the headlights coming toward you on a late night, about to pass you in a hurry, mere feet away. It's the car that's going to cross the centerline and turn your lights out in a tragic, bloody mess. You think about it with every car that passes, every single one, always ready to swerve to the right if you have to.
The storm that Reich observes is, however, as real to him as he ever needs it to be. It's the storm, or all the collateral damage that's going to eventually get him, though it will never strike in the form that he envisions. The beautiful misery that he creates on his excellent new album, "All Night Pharmacy," is a collection of drops in the bucket, all of which will eventually tip him over and bury him. Many of those same drops bring with them some of the love, kindness and safety that he's looking for, so turning the drips off entirely is out of the question. The good always comes with the bad and we're tired of hearing it.
Reich finds his pieces of happiness in his sadness, just like a pro. He sings about the end of the world, all the abandoned machinery and makes plans to meet up with someone he cares about at the dump - the place where he knows he's going to have to meet everyone. A quiet night of introspection leads to an observation tinged with possible regret, when he sings, "From the bedroom, I can hear the cars, buying something from the liquor store." The shape that he suddenly gives the silence that he needed to hear such a thing is breathtaking. He sings of the bloodless butcher and the luckless fighter and their small chances - familiar with them because they are everyone's chances.