An Evening With "Ys" by Joanna Newsom
My biggest regret about 2006’s year in music is that one of the most talked about records came out right around when I was finalizing my Top 10 Albums of the Year. Afraid that it would ruin my well-established mental processes about which albums made the grade, I decided to forgo listening to Joanna’s disc and give it separate attention. In that way, I could address the buzz that’s been surrounding this unique piece of art, and it wouldn’t tamper with my brain too much on the year’s most important list. So, I spent tonight dedicating myself to take in five tracks by a classically-trained harpist turned folk song writer.
My first impression, instantaneously, was that Ms. Newsom had a very peculiar voice. Mind you, I don’t think anyone with a working set of ear drums can avoid that Joanna has a very strange timbre. The only comparison I can think to draw, although a dark grasp of a comparison it may be, is to the warble of an unfamiliar bird you would find in a far off island. But it’s not always a warble, no. Her voice takes on another life as she pushes more air through her esophagus. Everything from a shrill whistle to a blood curdling shriek can burst forth from this woman at a moment’s notice.
The harp being what it is, and Newsom’s attempt to make it the primary method to convey her songs, it forces the listener to be more aware of the surrounding accompaniment. And for large part on Ys, the supporting cast is not very rich (an occasional interplay of strings and other, mostly orchestral, instruments). This brings us back to her voicing and lyrics.
Her wordplay is far and away what makes this album so alluring. Highly poetic and free-form, you wonder at the end of the 10+ minute epics if you’ve come full circle in the tale or have been dropped off at an entirely different world on the opposite edge of the universe. Some samples below from two different parts of the same song will give you an idea of the diverse ground covered in just “Bear and Monkey”:
“The space they gained grew
much farther than the stone that bear threw
to mark where they'd stop for tea
but walk a little faster
and don't look backwards
your feast is to the East, which lies a little past the pasture
when the blackbirds hear tea whistling, they rise and clap
and their applause caws the kettle black
and we can't have none of that!”
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“Washing that matted and flea-bit pelt
in some sea-spit-shine, old kelp dripping with brine
but monkey just laughed, and he muttered;
when she comes back, Ursala will be bursting with pride
till I jump up!
saying: you've been rolling in muck!
saying: you smell of garbage and grime!”
As her lyrics tiptoe the line of the abstract, her voice gives you a constant sense of unease. It’s at its best when quiet and simmering, but Joanna is downright unnerving when she means business, and I’m not sure her prose paintings need that kind of color. That’s my biggest complaint about Ys- where her voice should constantly soothe me kindly through the complex stories it scares me away with an unexpected vocal peak.
However, as you get close to ending the nearly hour-long artistic journey, Newsom gets more concise to the benefit of her odd style. The lean (for her standards) 7 minute closer “Cosmia” pulls together the best elements of Joanna’s harp prowess, a tied-together ethereal story of longing, and the subtle violin streams flooding into the gaps of her voice. She does get loud toward Ys’s climax, but it fits snugly with the mourning nature of the song.
If this album is the acquired taste that I’m told, then it mostly resembles a Dali painting: There are definitely some ugly sides, but Joanna Newsom’s artistic motives are very clear and very appealing. Further listens will only bring me to appreciate the rough edges and the smooth strokes alike.
What say you?!