Canadian smart-pop eccentric
Nicholas Krgovich had his heart broken in the spring of 2017, an experience he claims to have been unfamiliar with at the time. Finding himself unequipped to deal with the crippling waves of emotion, he soon began pouring his heart out into that ever-enduring creative statement, the breakup album. A cliche only becomes a cliche through its ubiquity and humans have been documenting their romantic distress for millenia, making it almost a rite of passage among artists. Recorded at home on borrowed gear and aided by a handful of trusted friends,
Ouch is a sweet and sad account of
Krgovich's brief but intense relationship, told in great detail, with plenty of heart and a sense of wry self-deprecation. By no means spartan, the arrangements on
Ouch are overall less dense than on 2017's dreamy
In an Open Field, though there are echoes of that album's lush splendor, especially on the wistful sax and flute-decorated standout, "Spa," a chronicle of the couple's last day together as viewed through the sad lens of hindsight. Over a lo-fi drum machine rhythm and gentle piano voicings, the lovely "Guilt" retraces the affair's beginning with a kind of breezy melancholia that is as warm as a sweater and light as mist. "Dog," arguably the most lonesome song of the bunch, relies only on voice and piano as
Krgovich pitifully intones "between the dog and me, you'd surely choose the dog and he could be the new king of your apartment giving kisses and hugs." As far a breakup albums go,
Ouch's appeal lies not in rage, utter despair, or reinvention, but in its introspective comfort. Through it all,
Krgovich applies his years of clever pop acumen to the situation at hand, sounding reliably like himself, but allowing his present circumstances to propel him somewhere new in life and song. ~ Timothy Monger