"Marigolden is sort of the adjective form of the noun of this thing that is supposed to be able to survive anything, but … doesn't … and so it suits this active sort of digging up the death and replanting …"

I make a point of beginning this review by using front man and lyricist Chris Porterfield's own etymology (quoted in Stereogum) of the album's title, because it is worth having at front of one's mind during a first listen. The theme of self-preservation in the midst of profound uncertainty is central to Marigolden and is palpable throughout the record.

Porterfield isn't shy about revealing much of his uncertainty — about himself, about his career, about his personal life — in his music, so I get the sense that perhaps it's to his surprise that the past few years have served his alt-folk outfit, Field Report, so well. But, really, what else can you expect from a musician who cut his teeth with Justin Vernon (of Bon Iver) in that Midwestern folk-music hub of Eau Claire, Wisconsin?

Although his current project takes root in Milwaukee, it's been met with success on both regional and national scales. Field Report have garnered the attention of artists like Aimee Mann and Adam Duritz, have toured internationally, and had an entire day (Oct. 22, 2014) dubbed "Field Report Day" in their hometown. Such accolades raise the question of whether the uncertainty mapped onto Field Report's music is warranted, but it's not worth reading into. The self-deprecating music this band churns out merits charm through its relatability, especially to Midwesterners.

Speaking allegorically, Marigolden sounds like winter. It begs to be heard while the skies are inescapably grey and snow weighs heavily on icy sidewalks. It's music you're supposed to listen to in order to help you survive the winters that drag on too long, before you can pick yourself up and move on with spring. In short, Marigolden's songs are sharp and perhaps a little bitter, yet loosely cloaked in a faint hope for warmer and sunnier days.

In a more autobiographical sense, Marigolden sounds a bit like a collection of diary entries, complete with intimate and detailed shards of a person's life that you're not supposed to know about. Porterfield unabashedly delivers lyrics about homesickness, anxiety and (perhaps most notably) sobriety.

Although a bit less heavy than the band's debut, Marigolden is not what I would call an upbeat album. However, in the spirit of "digging up the death and replanting," it's got that hint of optimism that we all need in our lives from time to time.

What do you think of the album? Share your thoughts in the comments section below.