Jennings sculpts emotions into new record

Mason Jennings writes emotional songs of experience. His shamanism is the portrayal of hurt and healing. He is quoted as having said, “I am interested in the experience of life, not its meaning.”

His songs, like his philosophy, start with simplicity and then bloom into significance.

Jennings’ latest album, Minnesota, like much of his other music, unifies the qualities of the dark and the light battling inside the human spirit.

Deemed a “collage” album of mostly piano songs unified under the moniker of his favorite place — his home state of Minnesota — the record justifies the many facets of life.

His music proves he understands that humanity maims and loves in the same lifetime.

The album’s highlight song, “Bitter Heart,” features a unique style of piano playing in the way it shifts and carries an unfamiliar but beautiful dissonance. After the chorus, rather than extending into a predictable pop bridge, he does something unusual with the notes, returning in circles. It makes the moments of release more anticipated and pure.

Jennings is skilled at framing soft piano lines with perfect introductions of drums and textured guitar. Like in the song “No Relief,” where he uses a peaceful, reflective piano that suddenly turns manic for the lyrics, No relief / from the pain that’s in my heart.

Minnesota is a personal album without being melancholy. Jennings transcends his simplicity into a lyrical landscape that has layers of sound.

It’s easy to identify musicians who are willing to seek influence in any touching source — this album wouldn’t exist as it is without elements as varied as punk, folk and African jams.

By detailing experiences, he’s able to illuminate the many paths of life relevant to most, if not all, listeners.

“Wake Up” is a remarkably personal tale of the path of an alcoholic, presumably Jennings himself. He sings: So I went to a shrink and he said to me / Just don’t drink when you’re nervous, that’s the key / And I said ‘Okay, that sounds fine’ / I didn’t tell him I was nervous all the time.

Always unpredictable, Jennings uses a couple tunes on the album to show us different themes. “Witches Dream” sounds exactly like a story of an evil woman with a crooked, wart-ridden nose with an intro of crows cawing and synthesizer that sounds like a spell being vomited.

“Well of Love” is Latin-influenced, with a Central/South American bongo feel.

What makes Jennings especially unique is his voice seems to adapt to pretty much anything with his wide vocal range. And perhaps even more notably, he plays all the instruments on almost all of his records.

Though his last album, Blood Of Man, explored the deep darkness around us, Minnesota is a smattering of all states of being. Sometimes he slips into character, like in “Rudy” and “Clutch” (where he assumes the persona of a woman struggling with the pain of memory).  When he does this he’s still writing his own memoir — the woman might as well be him, becoming enlightened and still surrendering to what he can’t control — his subconscious.

You’re not the master but you sure ain’t the slave, he sings.

The thing that’s so unique and intimate in Minnesota is Jennings can make you feel like you’re in a kitchen and then in a foreign country, but with the same familiarity.

He sings songs that make you feel like you’re wrapped up in a cabin sweater and holding a perfect cup of tea. He wants his listeners to know: When you appreciate life, love yourself and do what you love, you might as well be anywhere.