Ben Kweller was the soundtrack of youth for a generation of Texans. In particular, his 2002 full-length solo debut Sha Sha captured the messiness of figuring it all out – love, adulting – and set it to earworm guitar licks. Sha Sha resonated so well and so long because of the inherent vulnerability of Kweller’s lyrics. The North Texas-reared songwriter never pretended to have all of the answers, but he would bring you along for the ride.

Cover the Mirrors, Kweller’s seventh studio album, continues that tradition in the aftermath of one of the most profound moments of the 43-year-old’s life: On February 27, 2023, Kweller’s son Dorian, a budding musician of only 16, was killed in a car accident. May 30 should’ve been the celebration of Dorian’s 19th birthday. Instead, Kweller released a record in his memory.

Released by the artist’s own Noise Company label, Cover the Mirrors is an unmistakably Ben Kweller album: honest, dynamic, and ripped wide open for the world to hear. Over 12 tracks, Kweller explores not only his mourning, but the thousand ways death changes you. It’s born out of grief, but Kweller’s lens is set much wider.

Cover the Mirrors is an unmistakably Ben Kweller album: honest, dynamic, and ripped wide open for the world to hear.

“It wasn’t like I set out to say, 'OK, I’m gonna make this album about going through grief and loss.’ But there was no way around it,” he said in a press release. “This is just another chapter of me trying to heal and just get through what I’ve been going through. My music is always very autobiographical.”

Kweller described the album as dark, but it is varied in the way it explores those shadows. The stripped-down, piano-driven opener “Going Insane” is a quiet stunner, swelling slowly toward strings that close the song. “Depression,” a collaboration with labelmate Coconut Records, wears its emotions plainly, but just as guitar chords finally cut through the droney synths, Kweller leaves us with hope: “A new day’s coming for me.”

Four of the tracks on Cover the Mirrors are collaborations, which are among the album’s strongest. The loopable “Dollar Store,” which features vocals from Waxahatchee’s Katie Crutchfield, is a slow-burning Nineties garage rock anthem with a chorus that begs to be shouted. Kweller seeks community on some of the most emotionally wrought parts of the album: Coconut Records helps lift the heft of “Depression.” The Flaming Lips joined Kweller for “Killer Bee,” a parallel tribute to the band’s collaborator Nell Smith, who was killed in a car accident at 17. And MJ Lenderman features on album closer “Oh Dorian,” which is bouncy celebration rather than plaintive reflection – a country-tinged jam toasting Kweller’s “crystal child, double Gemini.”

Dorian himself is a collaborator on Cover the Mirrors. Kweller heard the beginnings of “Trapped” from behind Dorian’s bedroom door and finished the song his son never had the chance to.

There is no universality to the grief of losing someone you love far before their time. The shock of it, the sense of unfairness so great that there isn’t a single word in the English language that could possibly capture it, makes it an often isolating personal journey. So art made about death – understandably, by necessity – often feels wholly specific to a person, giving glimpses without letting you join completely.

Cover the Mirrors flouts that trope, remaining as open in its writing as Sha Sha was over two decades ago. Kweller still doesn’t have all of the answers, but you’re still invited to join him as he learns how to move forward. “It’s a full circle type of album,” Kweller said. “There’s a lot of reflecting – not only reflecting on the loss of Dorian. I’m also taking an inventory of everything else. My whole time on Earth. Everything I’ve created as an artist.”

Cover the Mirrors (The Noise Company)

Dancer EP (Flyer Club)

An 18-minute techno-pop treat that, much like the title suggests, will keep you moving.

I Want to Be Left Out EP (Native Fiction Records)

Lush, sexy layers of guitar and glitchy synths with tons of ear candy.

Who’s Afraid to Look (The Record Machine)

Ruminations about the current state of things (spoiler: not great) set to glittery bedroom pop.