The sweeping vantage points of Photo Ops’ Burns Bright (2024) belong first to the quiet of Nashville’s first modern suburb after World War II. Terry Price lived there while perfecting the melodic soft-rock modes that pleased audiences on tour with Camera Obscura and Fences. Price took this way of seeing to a new home in Los Angeles. Long drives through dimensional vistas ended in his room in Los Feliz where he recorded Burns Bright. When Etta James, Molly Drake, and The Byrds are all touchpoints of sound and silence, what emerges is a gentle homage to the commonalities of lasting influence in pop music, a kind of time-bending presentiment — the moment of tracking in a studio when everyone senses it’s a moment that will be remembered. Reaching through the layer of industry noise in both hallmark cities as we know them from a distance — is this a hit? — Price treasures the visceral experience of making and recognizing music.
The most devout of craftspeople, Price is on a quest toward the merciful essence of recognition when he writes songs; each line discovers a pure element of comfort, calling back to the land and to his musician mother’s love of transcendent melodies. Burns Bright reminds us how those forces are one and the same.
Price’s heroes in music are more than inspirations. To him, they offer examples of how to keep breathing in a culture that discourages total presence. It’s true that moving an open heart through the world comes with constant risk. Looking out at the expanse we all share — really seeing that world — is the practice of Burns Bright, and the special ability that makes Price a songwriter to cherish.
