Album Review

Joanna Newsom
Ys
Drag City, 2006

Usually, the use of the word "poetic" in a music review is lazy and erroneous; it's often tossed haphazardly at some rhymed philosophizing that might sound fine sung, but wouldn't even make it into a college lit journal as a poem. Songs carry different expectations than poems, and they communicate on an entirely different level, utilizing a unique vocabulary. For that reason, even some great lyrics would make lousy poems, and an effort to equate the two art forms is usually just a misconceived attempt to say that the lyrics are good.
Delightfully, folk harpist Joanna Newsom has provided critics with a remarkable exception to this rule. In the context of her new album Ys (as well as her debut The Milk-Eyed Mender), "poetic" is not only an acceptable but a necessary term. Her lyrics are stunning, and the liner notes to the new album make for an enjoyable read on their own merit. Ys (pronounced "ease") is a dazzlingly ambitious five-song, fifty-five minute tour de force. Though some fans of The Milk-Eyed Mender might initially be disappointed that there aren't any short, compact songs in the style of the debut, Ys' imagination, breadth, emotional depth, and craftsmanship are absolutely staggering. Newsom's panoramic scope on the opener "Emily" and the nearly seventeen minute long "Only Skin" give the impression that everything is happening at once, but she still manages to put enough focus on minute details to draw the listener directly into the fascinating world of the songs. She wastes little time unleashing her poetic proclivity, setting the scene in "Emily" with vivid language:

There is a rusty light on the pines tonight

Sun pouring wine, lord, or marrow
Down into the bones of the birches
And the spires of the churches
Jutting out from the shadows

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These sort of visceral nature images recur frequently throughout the album, and serve to create its landscape. Thematically, Newsom seems preoccupied with death and wonder in equal measure. Sometimes she addresses both at once, such as in "Emily" when she refers to "joy landlocked in bodies that don't keep" or in "Only Skin" when she observes that "Life is thundering blissful towards death/ In a stampede of his fumbling green gentleness." But equally important to the thematic content of her verses is the beautiful sound of the words, which often seem to spill out of her mouth of their own inertia. She is often very direct, but she is not afraid to use uncommon or archaic words (inchoate, hydrocephalitic, balletial) or make mythological references ("scrap of sassafras, eh Sysyphus?"). But whereas this can make some songwriters (say, Colin Meloy) sound belabored or stodgy, it positively works to Newsom's advantage because of the pure aural stimulation that the words instigate. Her verses ebb and flow, often seeming to follow the pace set by her harp playing. When her plucking becomes more urgent, the lyrics follow suit - the rhymes become more frequent and energetic and the imagery becomes more playful and abstract. Then suddenly, after pulling you in with enchanting imagery and playful word-weaving, she will suddenly pull back and lay bare some simple, honest emotion that will hit you with overwhelming force.
And, most remarkably of all, these songs are not just poems set to music, but fully function as songs as well. Newsom's voice, while the biggest point of contention among her detractors, is extremely expressive and entirely unique. It squeaks and breaks much less frequently here than it did on The Milk-Eyed Mender, but it is still an acquired taste. Sometimes described as sounding like a cross between an old woman and a young child, it could pass for an oddity from Harry Smith's Anthology of American Folk Music; it is hard to believe that it actually comes from the throat of a fully adorable 24 year-old woman. For many people this aspect feels alienating, but repeated listens reveal it's hidden beauty. The fact that Newsom's stunning poetry sounds like it's coming from a toothless Appalachian folksinger makes it all the more stunning and strange. It also gives the album a timeless quality - if I had never heard of Joanna Newsom I could have believed that it was a lost classic from the 1960s British folk revival. What's more, it would have been better than any of the great albums that actually did belong to that movement.

Though the songs are incredible by themselves, it certainly doesn't hurt that Newsom enlisted a versatile all-star production cast for the project. The songs were recorded by Steve Albini, mixed by Jim O'Rourke, and produced by Van Dyke Parks. Parks also wrote some fantastic orchestral arrangements, which are featured on every song except for "Sawdust and Diamonds." The strings deftly follow Newsom's wandering muse through her shape-shifting compositions, swooping like birds from the branches and steeples one moment and then swelling dramatically the next. This is a dramatic shift from the almost entirely solo performance of her debut, but it suits this new batch of songs perfectly. It does mean, however, that there is a lot going on at any given moment, and it does take several listens to begin to become accustomed to the winding, thorny paths the songs lead you down. It's a magical journey, though, and it only becomes more bounteous and rewarding the more you explore it.

In these fast-paced days of blogs and blurbs, some of the music that I am initially excited about can become stale surprisingly quickly. This makes an album like Ys feel like a small miracle - exquisitely crafted, passionately performed, and lovingly perfected - it is a timeless work, built to last. This is an album that I know will come to rest in my "special occasion" bin along with In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, I See A Darkness, and Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain, nestled lovingly there until some night when, once again, I am ready to experience something remarkable.

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Rating : Awesome (10)

MP3: Emily

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Buy Ys

Excellent Fansite With Lyrics