Since 2007, Colorado-raised musician Danielle Anderson has been chugging along at her own pace, releasing original albums every so often under her stage name Danielle Ate the Sandwich.
Over the years, Anderson garnered a respectable online following off the strength of her original songs and covers posted to YouTube, with her channel amassing about 48,000 subscribers. She has also utilized her platform to experiment with her musical output, having kept up an annual “24 Hour Album” project for 10 years and uploaded skits featuring various characters.
But on Fumbling, her eighth full-length and first studio album since 2016’s The Terrible Dinner Guest, Anderson distills her efforts into a compact package that coalesces far better than one would expect.
This new album, released Friday, is a homegrown endeavor. According to Anderson’s website, the songs were written in the years between her relocation from Fort Collins to Kansas City and recorded in 2024 in Kansas City with local musicians, including producers Fritz Hutchison and Al Hawkins of True Lions.
As made evident by the large gap between albums, Fumbling displays nine years' worth of life experiences for Anderson, but it does not display a hint of rustiness.
Opening track “This Peculiar Way” sets down the groundwork that the rest of the album builds upon. It discusses how grief hits everyone in different ways and at different times. But it also reassures the listener that that’s okay, and to go about it at their own pace.
The song starts off with Anderson plucking on her banjo before a variety of different types of percussion come in, like drumming, hand pattering, and tambourine. It paints an overall picture of a front porch jam session.
Lead single “It’s Not Jupiter” is a sweet serenade that invokes astrological imagery like the Pleiades and Canis Major to illustrate how the narrator feels like they are finally with their one true love.
Since her earliest years, Anderson’s most trusted instrument has been the ukulele, but over time and especially on recent records, she has welcomed a wider range of instrumentation. This record is no exception. While the ukulele remains the north star of “It’s Not Jupiter,” there is also space for harmonies, strings, and flutes to make it sound more cosmic.
Together, the lyricism and instrumentation align in a way that makes the listener feel like they are being sung a warm childhood lullaby before being tucked into bed.
The title track sees Anderson sing about being pulled in different directions while still feeling directionless. The chorus adds that it is tough to go through this struggle when you look like you have it together.
On “Fumbling,” the multilayered harmonies are able to vocalize the directional pull described in the lyrics side by side with drums, ukulele and bass.
While Anderson’s previous song titles presented as ridiculous but hinted at depth, from “We Are Hot Dogs” to “Even Cheerleaders Get Lonely,” the song titles here go straight to the heart. When you have a song called “I Need to Bury My Dad,” you know right away it’s going to be heart-wrenching.
The track specifically lays out her grief over her father’s death before the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, her initial inability to return home and give him a proper funeral and her thoughts on the general concept of grief. Her delivery is bluntly honest, but it also chooses to sound soothing rather than intense, perhaps to capture a more uplifting image of her father. Both ukulele and guitar command the sound alongside simple drumming to further the song’s method of making complicated emotions sound uncomplicated.
“Peace to You Brother” utilizes religious lingo to demonstrate the inevitability of change and the need to accept it. It is a simple message accompanied by a slow-paced composition that starts out with just ukulele and piano before more gospel elements like horns and a choir emerge.
“Baptism” continues on this path, imploring the listener to take a break from all the complications of life for a second and focus on its simplicity, symbolized by a tranquil river. Ukulele, guitar, interesting drum fills and horns unite to craft a quaint environment for the listener to meditate on.
“Fine” is a calming interlude about a smaller kind of guilt, the one you feel when you find yourself complaining about your life, even when it is going well. The song validates the very human desire to want more and suggests Anderson may be outgrowing some part of her life. While strings start the song off on a strong note, the ukulele turns out to somehow retain control of the sonic palette.
“Honoring the Dead” deals with her grandmother’s death and the difficulties that come with honoring someone’s last wishes. Sometimes, the way someone wants to be honored clashes with how their loved ones would choose to do so, but she feels grateful to have had the opportunity.
It is at this point in the album where it becomes clear that guitar and horns have joined the ukulele as new mainstays on a Danielle Ate the Sandwich album. Still, the drumming holds a steady power, and new elements like shakers continue to inch their way in.
While the album tackles heavy subjects, it never feels self-indulgent, dour or long-winded; in fact, this is Anderson’s most diverse-sounding and shortest album to date, clocking in at just 39 minutes, and it does not waste a second.
“We Mourn the Loss” sees piano and drums take center stage, as she not only mourns the loss of a loved one, but the various traditions and pastimes she used to share with them. Notably, this is also one of two explicit Danielle Ate the Sandwich songs on the album, a first for her, but they are tastefully played blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moments.
“Not Easy to Do” leans the heaviest onto the country aesthetic teased by the album cover, as all kinds of string instruments converge, from violins to guitar to banjo. This is juxtaposed with lyrics about Anderson’s move to Kansas City, the old things she misses and the new things she looks forward to.
“My Grandma Won’t Be Calling Me” is played with a single guitar and closes out the album on a note of remembrance, as Anderson grieves her grandmother and the small details about their time together. She ends by reminding herself to “breathe in, breathe out.”
Well worth the wait, Fumbling continues to paint Danielle Ate the Sandwich as a scrappy underdog not to be underestimated in the indie folk scene and proves to be among her best work to date. She sounds rustic rather than rusty, but more importantly, she sounds like she is home.
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