Denison Witmer’s Anything At All Is a Gentle Reminder to Seek Out the Sacred in Everyday Life (Review)
It’s easy to feel like the world’s on the verge of falling apart these days. We’re led by a man who personifies much of what’s corrupt in our culture while billionaires and bureaucrats run amok. Social media platforms amplify hatred and misinformation, a state their owners seem perfectly willing to accept so long as it nets them a profit. And to add insult to injury, AI-generated slop threatens to erode our aesthetic sensibilities as well as our ability to agree on what’s real.
When faced with the possibility of the world’s end, Martin Luther apocryphally claimed that he’d plant an apple tree. As for Denison Witmer, he’s opted to release a new album, for which I’m deeply thankful. Anything At All feels like the perfect record for our troubled times, a collection of gentle and plainspoken songs about the solace that can be found in family, nature’s beauty, and the work of one’s hands.
None of this is new territory for Witmer. The Philadelphia-based songwriter — who also runs his own carpentry business — has spent the better part of three decades crafting quiet indie-folk gems that are sensitive and heartfelt without ever feeling maudlin, as evidenced by albums like Safe Away, Of Joy & Sorrow, and Are You a Dreamer?. Anything At All follows confidently in their footsteps, only with the added bonus of Sufjan Stevens’ lush production and instrumentation (e.g., string arrangements, guitar filigrees, choral vocals), which gracefully flesh out Witmer’s balladry.
I reviewed “Older and Free” last October, and it’s still one of the album’s highlights, with Witmer finding peace in solitude and communion with nature. “A House With” has quickly become another favorite, as he expresses a desire to create a house “full of life and meaning” while recognizing, with some bittersweetness, that “everything is wild and fleeting.” (In this case, “life and meaning” means lots of birds and plants, and as someone whose wife loves both of those things, I find the song utterly delightful.)
“Clockmaker” weds the album’s jauntiest melody to a story about connection, a shared moment between Witmer and one of his carpentry clients (“Do you mind if I stand/And watch you work with your hands?/It’s a language that I understand”). Finally, the eight-minute-long “Slow Motion Snow” finds Witmer reflecting on his family’s rhythms (“Out in the hallway, my youngest child cries/He comes to our room and leaves with my wife”) while wondering if he’s “made good use of my friendships and time.” When paired with Stevens’ swirling arrangements, the song’s slow-burn creates a mood that’s quite apropos for contemplation, be it Witmer’s or our own.
In light of the chaos and collapse surrounding us, an album imploring us to carve out a sacred space for peace, life, and birding might seem woefully naïve, even negligent. After all, we should be protesting, calling our representatives, or — at the very least — posting some angry thoughts on Facebook. But as we battle the chaos around us, there’s an ever-present danger of losing ourselves, of surrendering to cynicism and despair.
Which is why an album like Anything At All is so necessary. Witmer doesn’t ignore the encroaching darkness. Instead, he reframes and pushes back against it, reminding us to protect and preserve the good, the true, and the beautiful in our own lives and the lives of those in our families and communities. We need that sacred space, he’s telling us, not simply to remind us of what we’re fighting for, but to remind us that we’re still human, with all of the glory, mystery, and frailty that entails.