May 23 2008
Joanna Newsom’s YS
5 Stars
Never in my lifetime have I heard an album even remotely similar to Joanna Newsom’s sophomore album, Ys, and, frankly, I don’t ever recall wanting to. After noticing the upper class of rock critics’ collective buzz (not to mention seeing Ys‘ angelic cover art) I figured I should at least give Newsom’s new album a fair shake. Newsom’s previous album, Milk Eyed Mender, to me, was little more than some decent coffee shop poetry streaked with a wretched voice, but that sort of thing has never stopped me, a Silver Jews fanatic, before.
Upon getting Ys home I immediately wanted to examine the accompanying liner notes to assure myself that everyone who was rumored to have worked on the album actually did. Really, though, I stalled because I was scared of the music ahead. The book simply wouldn’t work. This makes sense, naturally, because the three spined edges hit consumers’ hungry hands coated in gold – real gold, similar to the pages of an older book some call the Bible. Clearly, much care was taken when putting together the impressively packaged Ys, and I was intrigued. After seeing that all of my behind-the-scenes heroes were accounted for, I put the disc in my good ol’ Sony Boombox (I’ve always held the snobby belief that “real” music enthusiasts have the worst stereos, clothes, haircuts and such because they save all their extra money for albums and concerts.)
“What’s going on?” I thought to myself during my first dizzying Ys listening experience, eventually coming to the conclusion that Ys is either from an alternate universe or from the future. I wasn’t sure, but, again, it was certainly not like anything else before it, not even Newsom’s own Milk Eyed misstep. The oddball factor doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s a good album per se, but it does make for some good, healthy dissecting.
The first thing you notice when listening to a Newsom recording is her voice. Childlike, Newsom seems like the kind of person that was raised by Birkenstock-clad urban mystics (post-hippies, if you will), allowed only to read The Lord of the Rings, the Bible and other mythological tales. Eventually her voice – more importantly, her ability to use her voice in unthinkable ways – will get to listeners, but again, there’s nothing to compare it to. Ys features no percussion, only one or two guitar licks, layers of strings and a whole lot of harp, Newsom’s instrument of choice. In fact, Newsom writes her highly literate, always poetic (albeit, in a “girl on her bed dreaming” sort of way) long-form compositions on the Lyon & Healy Style II pedal harp.
How did this all work out, you ask? How can an elfish beauty tell tales of simple childish fears in poetic tones, using a language both obscure and obvious, and actually make it listenable? (Keep in mind that the song lengths range from seven to 16 minutes each.) Enter Team Newsom, better known as the upper class of rock production and recording: famous for his work with The Beach Boys is Van Dyke Parks, the man responsible for all of Ys’ lush and expansive orchestral arrangements; next is famed producer Steve Albini who recorded and directed all of Newsom’s quirky vocal and harp work; and last but not least is the man with the golden ears often credited with crafting Wilco’s Yankee Hotel Foxtrot mess into a landmark recording for its time, Jim O’Rourke, who mixed down these five songs, more or less making sense of them as he did Wilco’s baffling recordings.
So, basically, that’s how it happened. It pays to have connections and talented friends.
At the forefront of Team Newsom, though, is Joanna, the pixie brainchild of the bunch. With ideas and themes too strange and complex to explain in 700 words Newsom makes no compromises with her unique vision. These five long, folk mini-operas dance through fields, spin through consciousness and explore the feminine mind in ways so unpredictable that listeners with open minds will, if nothing else, leave their time spent with Ys feeling impressed by Newsom’s ability to see her risky vision through.
Certainly, Ys is not for everyone (or, really, hardly anyone from this day and age) but that shouldn’t stop curious minds from taking the gold-coated bait. Both a nod to simpler times, with its visual lyrics, and a peak into the future, with its progressive arrangement ideas and otherworldly train of though, Ys, against all odds, works. And for that, it’s amazing. Good luck to the adventurous. This might be the most futuristic folk album you’ll find. If nothing else, melt the pages of Newsom’s liner notes and make a ring.
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