Author: sydney pollack

On November 18, Rochester recording artist Ryan Sutherland released his third album, Sutherland II. In the album art, by illustrator Sabrina Cintron, neon green smoke curls around a pumpkin-headed scarecrow. Set against “crimson skies” emanating out of a huge, looming full moon with black cats hanging around its crescent, you gain the perfect visual of Upstate New York, taken as the days get cold, the season of the witch, after the harvest. 

Halloween’s spirits and spooks still hang in the air like old smoke as winter dramatically conquers fall; decreeing daylight cut-backs and strict sunlight curfews. While winter reigns, cold seeps through cracks in the once-grand, now dilapidated houses that line neighborhoods, the kind college students crowd into. Meanwhile, everyone dons kingly robes: trailing coats, vintage furs, cashmere socks, grandmother’s knits. Everyone’s digging things up, remembering, forgetting. Everyone’s just trying to get through another Upstate winter.

Through love affairs, drinks with the boys and a trip to the psych ward, Sutherland II documents how Sutherland himself gets through these days — with graceful vulnerability and powerful guitar chops. It nails down acutely the beautiful sadness of winter, its forced periods of intense introspection, its loneliness and its frustration. Sutherland validates all those emotions through shared experience and earnest vocals. 

The sharp wind of winters can pull tears out the eye unwittingly, can flush cheeks artificially; the early sunsets can warp time — 6 p.m. starts to feel like midnight. Everything is not as it seems, but in the frigid sunlight you can see your own air when you breathe, it reminds you you’re alive, it reminds you where you are. “Take a deep breath / it’s the only thing that’s real,” Sutherland sings on “Breathe.”

Sutherland II is comprised of 11 tracks of psychedelic rock n’ roll. Sutherland is on guitar, vocals and bass, Alex Cote is on drums, and local legend Ben Morey played organ on “Breathe,” in addition to engineering and recording the album at his Submarine Sound Studios in Rochester. Ryan Sutherland notes his references as the likes of Kurt Vile, Bob Dylan and Sturgil Simpson, but there’s also a bit of Billy Bragg in his tone and chord progressions. 

The album is perfect to listen to when walking through snowy streets at night, when they haven’t been plowed just yet, when the snow just fell, blanketing everything in eerie silence, stillness. You can listen through earbuds tucked into puffer jackets and hats and scarves, cold beer in a cold hand, frozen finger flicking a lighter, cracked knuckles, chapped lips. When it’s so quiet, too quiet, and you think you might go crazy, listen to track six, “Psych Ward Blues.” Sutherland shouts out the local Rochester staple: Strong Memorial Hospital, and bluntly recounts checking himself in, with smart timing and easy humor. 

Driving Upstate in this season is surreal as well — all black trees, white lakes and red barnes. It’s depressing, but the depression of Upstate winters twists itself in the minds of those of us who have been here for the long haul, and it turns into a sense of pride, a game of “how much of this can I take?” “Everybody wants to leave Upstate NY,” Sutherland sings on “Everyone’s Leaving (Upstate NY)” Even Sutherland wants to leave sometimes, when the cold is bitter, when his boss calls him into his office, when the economies bad and he can’t save a dime. Still, Ryan Sutherland doesn’t leave, a mysterious force exists, holding him here, the beauty in the sadness: “I got a feeling this city needs me / or I need it / desperately.”