Shannon Wright - Over The Sun
The perennially-dumped punk-folk songstress returns with an album that won't let you go until you're heartsick and headached.
Shannon Wright has opened on tour for Nick Cave, which should immediately tell you something about her style of music. A live performer known for almost painfully personal gigs, she's rooted deep in the southern gothic neck of the woods; a place of betrayals and of misdemeanours, of love lost and lovers fucked over.
This isn't going to be an easy listening encounter.
The cover of Over The Sun, shows the singer-songwriter at the controls of some film editing equipment, creating some mysterious work. And it's probably the best way to describe the disc in its entirety. There's a sense of working towards something, but Shannon's the only one with a clear idea of what it is - we're not at the controls and are just along for the ride. It can't help but feel, though, like we're going to end up at the dentist's office, and not Disneyland. The power in Wright's voice can't undo the feeling that all the songs are pushing the listener towards a bad place, towards a finale that's going to do nobody any good. With titles like You'll Be The Death and Plea living up to their tissue-paper-in-the-rain promise, there is certainly a lack of room for light here. There's Leonard Cohen discs with more joie de vivre attached.
Musically, however, this album is compelling, though it does lapse into repetition a little too often for its own good. With room-filling drum work from Christina Files, the only other contributor is Wright herself, providing spiky guitar that refuses to be pinned down - at once forming coherent riffs, at other times making confrontational attacks on your ears. There's keyboards throughout - the disc opens with a small mellotron interlude (which returns, disturbingly, later in the disc) before the crash of guitars sweeps it asunder - and it's these moments that provide respite from the angular guitar onslaught of off-kilter riffs. At various places, it sounds like the electric keyboard from mid-period Led Zeppelin has been roped into duty, and it adds a strangely spacious contrast to Wright's cramped guitar work. Indeed, one of the most affecting tracks on Over The Sun is entirely piano-driven - Avalanche. Through the tune, Wright cajoles simple chords out of the piano, reminiscent of some of A Silver Mt. Zion's work for its lonely, played-in-a-scout-hall feel. The playing style is deceptively accomplished - from Philip Glass-like moments to childishly-thumped passages, it's here that the performer's true range is explored, and it's the song that benefits the most from the absence of guitary artiness.
It took three years from the release of Dyed In The Wool - a time of continual touring and refinement of her legendarily passionate live shows - for Wright to get around to recording this disc. Someone so intense would naturally chose Steve Albini to handle their production - though some would argue the term should be preceded by the words "lack of". However, it's perfectly suited to Wright's musical vision. There's not a lot in the way of trickery, except for the way the vocals are mixed. At once, they whisper in your ear but seem maddeningly out of reach. There's always the thought that the singing should be louder, so apparent is the strain that's heard in some songs - the wail in Throw A Blanket Over The Sun is heartbreaking - but it all seems to hang together well. There's an almost-falling-apart quality to the drum sound on here - a familiar thing if you?re aware of Albini's other work - and it gives more weight to the desperation, to the rawness that lards the tunes.
The biggest complaint about Wright?s writing is that it ploughs the same furrow, largely. Musically, even. This is by no means a bad thing - many artists have made great careers from doing one thing and doing it well - but Wright's song writing is occasionally akin to stumbling across your obsessive-compulsive sister's diary, post-break-up. Being done wrong, continual recurrence of confessional admissions of worthlessness abound, and end up tiring, rather than revealing. A bit of levity to balance out the grim nature of this recording wouldn't go astray, and would probably even out the relentlessly bummed feeling that pervades every song here - eventually becoming so cloying that you'll have to rip out some brainless pop to stop yourself from rooting around in the knife drawer.
Ultimately, Over The Sun has a sort of narrow-lipped tension-headache feel that makes it a difficult disc to sympathise with. There's plenty of emotion through its length, but it's wrapped so tightly that it's difficult to penetrate - or escape. Like black writing on black paper, there's an inscrutable quality here that's intriguing, but makes for very hard going, listener-wise. It's rewarding if you persevere with it - masochism can bring rewards! - but this is certainly not an album that allows you to put it on as background listening: it cajoles and bludgeons its way into the limelight. There's no doubt that this is a heartfelt, intensely personal album, but it's one that isn't likely to find its way into the player much, unless climbing the walls while hopped up on red wine and heartbreak is a regular occurrence around your place.
This article originally appeared on FasterLouder.com.au. I am no longer associated with that website and, as copyright owner, have moved it here for permanent record.
Shannon Wright has opened on tour for Nick Cave, which should immediately tell you something about her style of music. A live performer known for almost painfully personal gigs, she's rooted deep in the southern gothic neck of the woods; a place of betrayals and of misdemeanours, of love lost and lovers fucked over.
This isn't going to be an easy listening encounter.
The cover of Over The Sun, shows the singer-songwriter at the controls of some film editing equipment, creating some mysterious work. And it's probably the best way to describe the disc in its entirety. There's a sense of working towards something, but Shannon's the only one with a clear idea of what it is - we're not at the controls and are just along for the ride. It can't help but feel, though, like we're going to end up at the dentist's office, and not Disneyland. The power in Wright's voice can't undo the feeling that all the songs are pushing the listener towards a bad place, towards a finale that's going to do nobody any good. With titles like You'll Be The Death and Plea living up to their tissue-paper-in-the-rain promise, there is certainly a lack of room for light here. There's Leonard Cohen discs with more joie de vivre attached.
Musically, however, this album is compelling, though it does lapse into repetition a little too often for its own good. With room-filling drum work from Christina Files, the only other contributor is Wright herself, providing spiky guitar that refuses to be pinned down - at once forming coherent riffs, at other times making confrontational attacks on your ears. There's keyboards throughout - the disc opens with a small mellotron interlude (which returns, disturbingly, later in the disc) before the crash of guitars sweeps it asunder - and it's these moments that provide respite from the angular guitar onslaught of off-kilter riffs. At various places, it sounds like the electric keyboard from mid-period Led Zeppelin has been roped into duty, and it adds a strangely spacious contrast to Wright's cramped guitar work. Indeed, one of the most affecting tracks on Over The Sun is entirely piano-driven - Avalanche. Through the tune, Wright cajoles simple chords out of the piano, reminiscent of some of A Silver Mt. Zion's work for its lonely, played-in-a-scout-hall feel. The playing style is deceptively accomplished - from Philip Glass-like moments to childishly-thumped passages, it's here that the performer's true range is explored, and it's the song that benefits the most from the absence of guitary artiness.
It took three years from the release of Dyed In The Wool - a time of continual touring and refinement of her legendarily passionate live shows - for Wright to get around to recording this disc. Someone so intense would naturally chose Steve Albini to handle their production - though some would argue the term should be preceded by the words "lack of". However, it's perfectly suited to Wright's musical vision. There's not a lot in the way of trickery, except for the way the vocals are mixed. At once, they whisper in your ear but seem maddeningly out of reach. There's always the thought that the singing should be louder, so apparent is the strain that's heard in some songs - the wail in Throw A Blanket Over The Sun is heartbreaking - but it all seems to hang together well. There's an almost-falling-apart quality to the drum sound on here - a familiar thing if you?re aware of Albini's other work - and it gives more weight to the desperation, to the rawness that lards the tunes.
The biggest complaint about Wright?s writing is that it ploughs the same furrow, largely. Musically, even. This is by no means a bad thing - many artists have made great careers from doing one thing and doing it well - but Wright's song writing is occasionally akin to stumbling across your obsessive-compulsive sister's diary, post-break-up. Being done wrong, continual recurrence of confessional admissions of worthlessness abound, and end up tiring, rather than revealing. A bit of levity to balance out the grim nature of this recording wouldn't go astray, and would probably even out the relentlessly bummed feeling that pervades every song here - eventually becoming so cloying that you'll have to rip out some brainless pop to stop yourself from rooting around in the knife drawer.
Ultimately, Over The Sun has a sort of narrow-lipped tension-headache feel that makes it a difficult disc to sympathise with. There's plenty of emotion through its length, but it's wrapped so tightly that it's difficult to penetrate - or escape. Like black writing on black paper, there's an inscrutable quality here that's intriguing, but makes for very hard going, listener-wise. It's rewarding if you persevere with it - masochism can bring rewards! - but this is certainly not an album that allows you to put it on as background listening: it cajoles and bludgeons its way into the limelight. There's no doubt that this is a heartfelt, intensely personal album, but it's one that isn't likely to find its way into the player much, unless climbing the walls while hopped up on red wine and heartbreak is a regular occurrence around your place.
This article originally appeared on FasterLouder.com.au. I am no longer associated with that website and, as copyright owner, have moved it here for permanent record.
Labels: album reviews
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