To avoid any confusion I'll emphasize two facts right off the bat. First, the Bruces are essentially a one-man affair, coordinated and orchestrated by multi-instrumentalist singer/songwriter Alex McManus. Second, The War of the Bruces is the first new full-length Bruces album since the band's debut CD, Hialeah Pink, back in 1994. Despite the lengthy hiatus, available sources indicate that McManus's artistic direction hasn't changed much; the new record features the same doomy-gloomy avant-folk as before, but this time the lo-fi bedroom recording techniques prevalent in Hialeah Pink have given way to crisp, clean production.

Over the last eight years, McManus has developed a somewhat daunting musical resume. He hopscotched back and forth between Nashville, Athens and Omaha, supplying his prodigious musical talents to a variety of bands and performers situated around the nexus of alternative country and indie rock, including Vic Chestnutt, Simon Joyner, Lambchop, Bright Eyes and post-rock outfit Empire State. If I'd known about this impressive musical pedigree when I first popped The War of the Bruces into my stereo, I might have assumed it would be a no-brainer for my personal musical hit-list -- but something about the songs and the way they played out kept me at arm's length for the first few listens.

It had something to do with the lyrics. McManus tends to write songs that chronicle the angst, depression, despair and bitterness that are facts of life on the permanently shady side of the street -- but he also has a predilection for lyrical metaphor that veers wildly between brilliance and heavy-handedness. For example, I wasn't sold on the connection that album opener "Do Se Do" tries to forge between the cruel turns of unstable relationships and the effort required to square-dance on the deck of a sinking pirate ship, even though some of the song's lyrics, such as "We dance around this scurvy romance / When the fruit is gone you know you don't stand a chance", really made me smile. Other McManus pieces do better, such as "Sunken City" and its hopelessly heartbroken shut-in narrator, or "Invisible Ceiling", which features an epic depiction of a romance nearing the end of its upwards trajectory.

Sonically, The War of the Bruces is a treat, and all the more so when you consider that almost all of the music here was performed by McManus himself. The songs feature beautiful and painstakingly delicate interplays between varying collections of instruments; they sound more like the product of an improvisational folk ensemble than a single man. McManus adds a variety of effects to deepen the songs' psychological impact; this really comes through in the album-closing song cycle. A tale of monumental struggle with crushing depression, it starts out with the spare, lonely "After Hours", builds up to "Mountain", and ends with the great Anthology of American Folk Music traditional "I Wish I Was A Mole in the Ground", which in McManus's hands is turned into a weirdly chilling alt-bluegrass psychodrama.

Despite all of this praise, The War of the Bruces didn't really snap into place for me until my third or fourth listen; it took me a while to see the light. I'm not exactly sure what triggered the connection, but I suspect it was partly a matter of finding the correct listening environment. Unfortunately, my optimal listening environment for The Bruces turned out to be in the driver's seat of my car as I piloted my way through pouring rain and unforgivably convoluted rush hour freeway traffic. Chalk it up to the mysterious nature of musical appreciation; some songs can only reveal themselves when storms are raging and the shadows are creeping up the walls.