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All
the Ladies in the House
By
B.A. Nilsson
Amy
Engelhardt
Not
Gonna Be Pretty (Coldfoot)
Amy
Engelhardt enjoys words, whether she’s singing them or writing
them or, in the case of her new CD, both. Her lyrics are witty,
trenchant and persuasive, and she’s set them to melodies that
lull you into enjoying them as catchy tunes—until they veer
into contrasting territories. In other words, she’s got the
craft down cold, if not better than most because she has a
rare and intelligent edge in wordsmithery.
“[It]
would be so great if you could be like me/It would be so great
if you could like me,” is the heart of the chorus of the opening
song, a single mom’s troubled lament to her teenage daughter
that brims with an undercurrent of all-too-familiar guilt
and shame transmission. The dynamic ensemble is headed by
pianist Bob Malone, giving jazzy inflections to a pop-lively
number.
Engelhardt’s most high-profile gig is as one-fourth of the
Bobs, an a cappella ensemble with a 25-year legacy of creating
new ways to combine voices while performing a large repertory
of classics and originals. Since joining 10 years ago, Engelhardt
has created a number of her own original songs for the group,
so it’s not surprising (and, in fact, very satisfying) to
find her going solo as well.
The 13 album tracks offer a fascinating tour of degrees of
annoyance and pain, most rendered wryly. “Are you a pothole
or a ramp?” asks one anthemic song. “Do you want to help me
fly/Or trip me up until I cramp?”
Veering into the cynical, “Anywhere Else but Me” begins, “Woke
up on the sofa/Patterns on my face/Smacked my knee on the
table/I’m not used to this place,” and goes on to look at
love from significantly detached locations. “What Do You Look
Like” takes a parallel journey, but with temporal detachment.
Engelhardt also is an impressive balladeer, with a rich voice
and the ability to paint an evocative portrait with a poetically
few words. “Idaho” carries the terse refrain, “Scenery/Mountains
and rivers mute the mean in me” sung to the very effective
accompaniment of Gil Ayan’s solo guitar.
“Are
You Dead or Are You Undead” is a repeated chant of the title,
the basso of fellow-Bob Richard Greene underpinning the piece;
as Engelhardt joins the chant, “undead” starts to sound like
“wounded,” giving the song an intriguing ambiguity.
Engelhardt may be a tad too intelligent to rack up big mainstream
sales, but I hold out hope. For those who want to be in at
the debut of a witty, bright, affecting singer-songwriter,
head to coldfoot.net and grab a copy.
 Mia
Doi Todd
Gea
(City Zen)
With her seventh album, Mia Doi Todd continues a pursuit of
romantic compositions and arrangements. Built around her clearly
articulated guitar playing and softly forceful singing, the
music has roots in modal musics from many lands and eras,
and bears more than a passing resemblance to the inviting
poetics and undulating landscapes of Nick Drake. She opens
the set with the longest track, the 10-minute-plus “River
of Life/The Yes Song,” in which her nylon-string guitar weaves
a hypnotic tapestry of harmonium and hand drum. Her vocal
moves almost imperceptibly from singing to chanting and back
again. Depending on the particulars of the environment into
which this music is introduced, it can be everything from
a soothing balm to a cerebral journey. At times the balance
does tip towards porcelain-teacup fragility, but this is generally
due to the lyrics being too self-aware and precious (“Night
of a Thousand Kisses”). Mia tends to hop back by the next
song, and her music’s sonic quality frees it from the linguistic
syrup handily.
—David
Greenberger
 The
Valerie Project
The
Valerie Project (Drag City)
If
you’re going to write a concept album, why not base it on
an obscure Czech film that illustrates the concept of menstruation
through an allegory of vampires, magic earrings, and a lecherous
priest that may or may not be the protagonist’s biological
father? Margie Wienk (of Fern Knights), Greg Weeks and Brooke
Sietinsons (both of Espers) and have done just this. The first
installation of a dawning “Project Series,” The Valerie
Project strives to recontextualize the filmic meaning
of Jaromil Jireš’ 1970 classic Valerie and Her Week of
Wonders, widely regarded as the final example of Czech
new-wave film, by fully replacing its soundtrack. With a veritable
indie orchestra at their command, the Project achieve far
more than a cheeky synch-up, in the manner of Pink Floyd’s
so-called “Dark Side of Oz.” Rather, the group have completely
repainted the dark, psychedelic fairytale in a baroque, but
contemporary gloss that drifts accordingly from innocent harp
themes to dissonant guitar-driven mayhem. Penned to accompany
a live screening of the film, the album suffers at times from
its lack of visual narrative; yet, even in its disembodied
form, the album provides a cohesively eerie soundtrack to
a lazy Sunday morning or late-night drive.
—Josh
Potter
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