CD Review: Joanna Newsom, Ys
First of all, let me just say that I've tried—very hard—to fall under the enchanting spell of Joanna Newsom, to which most of my friends and fellow music fans have succumbed. Though I wasn't a fan of the baby-talk singing style and boring arrangements on the harp player's first album, 2004's The Milk-Eyed Mender, I decided to give Newsom's new album, Y's, a chance after reading a few stellar reviews and hearing good things from several Newsom-fanatic friends whose opinions I respect very much.
After giving the five-song LP a few cursory listens, I realized that Newsom has indeed matured, both musically and vocally. On Y's, her distinctive singing style is more elegant than annoying, and orchestral arrangements backing up her harp playing are sublimely lush. But despite my best efforts, I still just can't embrace the classic-pop sound of this elvin-voiced chanteuese, who makes Bjork sound like a wise old matron. To find out why, read more
First, I'll tell you what I like about Y's, pronounced "ees," so as to avoid any verbal reamings from Newsom fanatics. The music, which could easily be the pensive score for a woodland fairy tale or a modern-day ballet, is at times achingly beautiful and undoubtedly a departure from anything else going on in pop or indie-rock today. On the standout track "Emily," Newsom has a knack for breaking into otherwise calm musical moments with vocal crescendos capable of startling you out of your seat. And the instrumentation on this album, from delicate strings to regal French horns, is not only a step up from the music on Milk-Eyed Mender but also well-executed in its own right.
But call me, er, new-fashioned, but I like my music with just a little bit more roughness. Many people point out what they perceive as high-poeticism in Newsom's lyrics, but to me, the incredibly dense poetry often comes off as rambling and amateurish. Plus, after a few listens, I found myself yearning for lyrics about something besides bears, peonies, and "Sibyl sea-cow all done up in a bow." Consider this opening stanza from "Monkey & Bear":
Down in the green hay,
where monkey and bear usually lay,
they woke from a stable-boy's cry.
He said: "Someone come quick—
the horses got loose, got grass-sick—
they'll founder! Fain, they'll die."
If that, laid over a soft flurry of woodwinds and some harp-playing, sounds like your kind of thing, then by all means, give Newsom's Y's a try. And if you like it, please come back and explain to me why I'd ever want to put this CD on regular rotation.
