My Morning Jacket
– Circuital
With Circuital, My Morning Jacket did what aging rock bands often pretend to do but rarely pull off: they looked inward without losing their spark. This album isn’t a reinvention, nor is it a retreat. It’s more like someone digging through their attic and finding an old photo that still hits like it did the day it was taken. There’s warmth here, but not the cozy kind. It’s the heat that rises off pavement after a long summer rain—earthy, weird, and a little bit holy.
Best of…
Jim James has always had that choirboy-lost-in-space thing going, and here it’s sharpened. He doesn’t shout much, doesn’t need to. His voice hovers over these tracks like a worn ghost, crooning about time, love, memory, and whatever else drifts through your brain at 2 a.m. The band, meanwhile, locks in tighter than ever, trading their early chaos for a deeper, fuller sound. No one’s showing off, which might be the most radical thing about it. These are musicians listening to each other, building songs instead of monuments.
There’s restraint and release in equal measure. A few tracks stretch out like they’ve got nowhere to be, but you never feel stuck. The album doesn’t pander, doesn’t push. It unfolds. Circuital might not blow the roof off your mind like Z did, but it doesn’t have to. It hits lower, deeper, like it’s tuning into something you didn’t know you were missing.
Choice Tracks
Circuital
Seven minutes of slow-building, hypnotic groove. The title track unfurls like a sunrise—unhurried, glowing, and heavy with possibility. James’ vocal floats over the band like a promise he’s not sure he can keep. By the end, it doesn’t matter. You’re in.
Victory Dance
The opener feels like a weird hymn sent back from the end of time. Marching drums, warped strings, and a sense of dread you can almost dance to. It doesn’t aim to please—it aims to haunt. And it does.
Holdin on to Black Metal
Funky, oddball, and just a little sleazy. Horns wail, children’s voices creep in, and the groove sticks like syrup. It’s a fever dream of a song, bizarre and irresistible.
Wonderful (The Way I Feel)
This one’s stripped down, almost naked. A slow, thoughtful ballad that walks the tightrope between sentiment and schmaltz. Thankfully, it never falls. James lets the silence say as much as the notes.
The Day Is Coming
Hints of Motown soul filtered through cosmic dust. It’s got that steady pulse and a kind of quiet optimism that feels earned, not forced. If the apocalypse had a hopeful side, this would play over the credits.
Circuital doesn’t demand your attention. It earns it. A grown-up record for people tired of pretending they aren’t haunted by everything they thought they’d outgrown.