Joanna Newsom - Ys
Tracklist:
- Emily
- Monkey & Bear
- Sawdust & Diamonds
- Only Skin
- Cosmia
A few weeks ago, I attended the symphony for the first time in several years, and about midway through the performance, which included classical improvisation as well as pieces by Mozart and Haydn, I was struck with the notion that indie darling Joanna Newsom’s latest record bears more a resemblance to this elegant institution than your usual indie fare. In fact, that resemblance may very well be what keeps most listeners at a distance, more so even than her unique, childlike warble.
With its long and sometimes overindulgent moments of orchestration, Ys is an exercise in theme and variation and is at times a challenge to digest. At five songs and over fifty minutes, it is constructed in almost every way as the very antithesis of a pop record. But with each listen there are new and subtle nuances to discover—a lyrical phrase here, a symphonic flourish there—that give the entire album fresh appeal, and it is this continual rediscovery that is the very hallmark of a classic.
Each track has its own distinct tone and flavor, and while certain orchestral leitmotifs rise and fade throughout (“Emily” and “Monkey & Bear” in particular seem to exhibit moments of Japanese tonal influence), the length of and variation between songs create a feeling of movements, thereby deepening the similarity between Ys and, say, Moussorgsky’s “Pictures at an Exhibition”. This of course limits the occasions on which the album can truly be appreciated; throwing Ys on at a party or while working out is probably not the best way to enjoy the album. But with one’s full attention, the delicate instrumentation and vivid imagery can truly cast their spell, creating rich pictures of a place and time unknown but instantly familiar.
Clocking in at nearly seventeen minutes, the album’s undisputed centerpiece has to be “Only Skin”, a dark and brooding tale of love long lost that from its outset is rife with curious imagery: “That night, black airplanes flew over the sea / And they were lowing and shifting like beached whales, shelled snails / As you strained and you squinted to see.” The lyrics spew forth like a hypnotic stream of consciousness, filled with the sort of words you hear in college and never again. The cadence of her words remains steady from phrase to phrase, and just as you are lulled into a sort of trance by the rhythm, it shifts, introducing or reprising a melodic idea and moving the song in a new direction. It’s the sort of change one would expect in a symphonic composition, and Van Dyke Parks’ arrangements deftly frame the piece in a way that evokes fantasy, elegance and luxury.
Not enough can be said about this landmark record, and no words can do it justice. It’s the sort of album that truly has to be experienced, and in more than just a passing sense. While she at times sounds like a faerie and at others like a cross between Bjork and Kate Bush, Joanna Newsom’s voice is only part of the picture, and the lush orchestration here is the perfect complement to her unique tone. Ys demands attention and analysis, and if you choose to grant both, it will reward your efforts more than any other album this year.
MP3:
Monkey & Bear