"I like making records, reflects tireless songwriter Peter Mulvey," this discs is actually more like a live show than any record I have made. On Letters From a Flying Machine, Mulvey's articulate, inquisitive songcraft serves as a guide, leading the listener on a thoughtfully constructed journey in search of answers to some formidable existential questions and ending with, hopefully, a tiny but shining epiphany. Through the songs and stories on this album, I'm trying to figure out what actually lasts a long time, Mulvey explains. So it is set up to listen all the way through to take this voyage. I want the listener to hear the end of the album differently than they heard the beginning. It's a record that's actually about something. This is an old human statement, I know, but when all else has crumbled, love is the only thing that is real.
His twelfth album, Letters From a Flying Machine heralded a drastic change in Mulvey's process. Richly acoustic, with a hint of rustic clatter befitting the album's themes of antiquity, obsolescence, and progress, Letters From a Flying Machine puts Mulvey's nimble guitar front and center, framing it with contributions from several key associates. It's also the first Mulvey album to feature spoken word pieces, a long time staple of his live performances.
