Some music is played for an audience. The best example of this is, of course, mainstream pop music, but even some of the most esoteric, obtuse independent music is also intended primarily to be listened to and enjoyed. There's nothing wrong with that, the constant quest to keep listeners interested keeps things interesting and results in a lot of great new music, as well as an incalculable number of horrible failures. However, Iron and Wine doesn't play his music for you or for anyone else, he plays it for himself. He doesn't mind if you come and sit down at his campfire and listen to him playing his battered-up old acoustic guitar, but ultimately, the only person that he's trying to please is himself.

Ironically, this complete and utter disregard for what others think has helped Iron and Wine, the performance name of Sam Beam, to produce some truly stunning music. Released from concerns for petty matters such as accessibility and commercial appeal, he's free to take his music wherever he wants, without compromise. The result is more often than not some truly beautiful acoustic ballads that put many other folk singer-songwriters to shame, with their honesty, emotion, and directness.

Things aren't quite this good on "Our Endless Numbered Days", however. While previous Iron and Wine albums sound like they were recorded in a broom cupboard, this one was recorded in a full studio with a group of other musicians providing a bit of muscle to the songs. While I think we'll witness Bangladesh winning a test cricket series before we ever see Beam consenting to having electronic noises and slick production added to his songs, this small concession does change the atmosphere and direction of the music quite significantly. Things still sound lo-fi, but they songs have lost a lot of their rustic charm that formerly set them apart from other artists.

The songs themselves are still fine pieces of work though, maybe not as good as the songs that appeared on "The Creek Drank The Cradle", but still fine pieces of work nonetheless. Beam's voice is appropriately hoarse and whispery, giving all of the songs a sense of delicacy. The finger-picked guitar is ever-present, making these songs sound like they'd be equally welcome being played around a campfire as they would be being played in a smoky bar in the rural South. The only problem is that there's not a great deal of variation between each individual song, if you don't like the first track here, you're not going to like any of the rest.

While the loss of the DIY aesthetic is bound to be slightly disappointing, this is still an album that will appeal to anyone who likes southern rock, folk music, or even old-fashioned singer-songwriters like Cat Stevens. Beam might have conceded a little of his artistic vision and written some slightly more mainstream songs, but they still sound damn pretty.