Album Review: Villagers - That Golden Time (Domino Records)

Conor O’Brien’s latest album as Villagers, That Golden Time, feels like a soft sunrise. Where his previous full-length, Fever Dreams, was all bold colors and kaleidoscopic sonorities, his sixth pulls things back. O’Brien uses his love for the lush sparingly, each note and lyric placed with care. Performing for the first time in Bucharest on November 15, the Irish indie-folk artist will showcase this sound with an intimate acoustic show at Control Club.

Opening with Truly Alone, this is clearly a more vulnerable side of O’Brien. Sparse piano and a soft hum cradle his voice. There’s a touch of Nick Drake’s quiet melancholy here. O’Brien isn’t aiming for sweeping statements; he’s keeping things small and personal, his lyrics—“We’re tethered by invisible strings”—feeling like something shared between friends. The whole song draws you in, inviting you to sit with it a little longer each time.

In First Responder, O’Brien dips into social commentary. “Spending my days cursing disparity while you make the money and give it to charity,” he sings on the topic of performative generosity. The song's pairing of acoustic guitar with a sweeping orchestra brings to mind Father John Misty’s reflections and social critiques. But where Misty might throw in a bit of sarcasm, O’Brien keeps it soft, letting the message land quieter.

You Lucky One has an upbeat rhythm and a lighter melody, emerging as an album standout. Underneath the brightness, however, there’s also a sense of gratitude. “You’re the lucky one / You got through it all,” O’Brien sings.

Then comes the title track, That Golden Time, which feels like the album's heart. There’s something pastoral in it that recalls the bucolic psychedelia of Pink Floyd. Strings oscillate in waves, and O’Brien’s voice floats through a mist of reverb. It’s beautiful but tinged with sadness, an ode to a “golden time” that feels so close you can almost reach it but never quite do.

Behind That Curtain is one of the album's most haunting tracks. Everything is stripped back—just a simple piano line and O’Brien’s voice, which sounds on the edge of breaking as he sings, “We see what we want, and we don’t ask why.” It’s a line that sticks with you, leaving a lingering ache.

The album ends with Money On The Mind, a playful track that disguises its sharp critique of materialism. Once again, O’Brien keeps it light, letting the satire float by with a touch of irony.

As an undeniable slow burner of an album, That Golden Time rewards careful listening through soft admissions over grand proclamations. It’s not an album that shouts or tries to impress. There’s no rush, no heavy-handed message—just an artist who’s found a way to share a piece of his own “golden time” and invite us to find our own.