It was 2am, the night before his wedding, when Elliott Whitehurst woke up his dad.
The ceremony was already set, friends and family in town. But suddenly, Whitehurst realized he was making a mistake. His dad heard him out, about how he'd wanted to make his fiancée happy but lost himself in the process. He knew it. His friends knew it. His bandmates definitely knew it.
Whitehurst's dad said he understood. Hours before the ceremony, the wedding was called off.
That night and the events surrounding it form the core of Trebuchet's Volte-Face, a gorgeous, indie-folk song cycle about growing older, trying manhood on for size, aiming to please, failing oneself, watching a love turn sour and corrosive, and ultimately choosing self-preservation. It's not bitter, or angry, or pessimistic. It contains piano, ukeleles, shimmering guitars, and four-part harmonies galore. I surprised myself by listening to it more than any other album in 2017, each time finding new moments of beauty and calm during this year of constant terror.