The Persian instrumentation pops against such a lowkey backdrop. Amir Yaghmai of the Voidz plays the acoustic and electric saz throughout, letting it dance over the straightforward folk chords, and it’s a highlight of the album—on “Forgive Is to Know,” it melds beautifully with a violin part played by Paul Cartwright, adding a bold flourish to the meditative mood. And on “Back of a Truck,” the saz fits right into the country scenery, trading off licks with the electric guitar after Rostam describes listening to a Bob Dylan cassette while driving down I-94. In the press release, Rostam said that this blend of cultures provided the theme of American Stories: “Pushing the most Iranian elements right up against the most American ones brought me a certain kind of joy.” As the United States has escalated its attacks on Iran, there’s something pleasingly transgressive about bringing Iranian elements into such overtly Western music—so much so that the songs without Yaghmai’s playing seem a little subdued in comparison.
The concept of “American stories” feels explicit in the music, maybe less so in the lyrics. Historically, Rostam solo albums are full of pensive and personal moments—reflections on life while taking long walks, weighing conflicted emotions while lounging in bed—and this one is no exception. There’s a lot of sometimes at play: on “Back of a Truck,” sometimes he wakes up happy, and sometimes he’s “sad as hell”; on “Different Light,” “sometimes all the words come quick,” but “sometimes it may take a while.” It often feels like you’re catching Rostam smack-dab in the middle of the world’s most chill introspection session—questions about big topics like death and forgiveness and artistic inspiration are all on the table, but nothing feels so urgent that it needs an immediate answer.
On “Hardy,” perhaps the most traditionally Rostam-sounding song in the bunch, the arrangement—that dizzying orchestral sample, punchy drums, a spectral guest verse from Clairo—is daring, but the words have a pliability to them: “Maybe the greatest art is never completed/We only have to leave it knowing we tried.” Makes sense, given he told The Guardian he started writing that song in 2012 and only now committed it to tape. Rostam seems to understand that his musical decisions have an assurance that his lyrics might lack; at the beginning of “Forgive Is to Know,” he sings, “The chords are set in stone but/The words I’m working on.”
Other than a mention of Batmanglij’s father on “The Road to Death” (“My father carries the name of a prophet/But Dad was no believer”), the imagery feels broad and universal: morning light, highway drives, biking in the city. What’s on Rostam’s mind comes into clearest focus on the last two tracks: The first, “Come Apart,” calmly assesses the bleak state of the world, alluding to the Palestinian genocide with an image of burning olive trees. The second, “The Weight,” celebrates the young people who speak out against such atrocities. (Rostam seems particularly attuned to student protesters like the ones who participated in the Gaza Solidarity Encampment a couple years ago; 51% of proceeds from his release of an ” version of Vampire Weekend’s “Campus,” which he first recorded in his Columbia University dorm, go to relief funds for Palestine and Sudan.) “They can force a resignation/But can’t stop a formation,” he sings, a stomping beat animating the simple piano chords. “You got courage on your side.” The song closes with a coda of saz and mandolin, mournful and hopeful in equal measure. “The Weight” feels like a holistic artistic statement for Rostam—not just its impeccable composition and warmth, but its clear message of dissent and encouragement. Earlier on the record, Rostam made space for ambiguity: “Sometimes the words mean what you like.” But here, you know exactly what he wants to say.
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