The planets have genuinely aligned for Tasha Viets-VanLear. The Chicago-based musician documents her Saturn return—the period when Saturn returns to the same position it was in the sky when you were born—on her new LP, All This and So Much More. The Saturn return is about shedding your old life and rediscovering who you are in a glorious rejuvenation cycle, and that shift into a new period was tectonic for Tasha, who lays waste to a previous life and sets the foundations for a new beginning. Since her 2021 album Tell Me What You Miss the Most, the singer-songwriter—who goes by the mononym of her first name—has had encounters with grief, endured a sudden breakup, traveled the world, appeared in a Tony-winning Broadway musical and even obtained a fresh hair color—a necessary change for when life flips on its head.
Having just ended her turn as a cast member in the stage adaptation of Sufjan Stevens’s album Illinois in August, the Chicagoan leaves behind Stevens’s vulnerability to explore her own throughout All This and So Much More. Though the resemblance to the coming-of-age musical is noticeable with her exploration of friendship, romance and loss, Tasha’s unique voice and inherently distinctive experiences amalgamate into an intimate journey with a new life. The rose-tinted, minimalistic Tell Me What You Miss The Most, with its flourishing garden of love and relationships, grows some thorns during this chapter, but the flowers are still as vibrant as ever. Tasha reflects life with realism while maintaining faith in the shadow of a bright future.
Like her former self, the beginning of All This and So Much More is stripped bare, focusing solely on Tasha’s trek through self-discovery in her late 20s. The quiet forces an attuned ear for her sorrows, idyllic musings and self-reflection as a subtle, chest-aching synth lures you into Tasha’s retelling of the last few years in “Pretend.” “What kind of person could I become,” she ponders as her “feelings [are] outgrowing this little life.” The spacious stillness warms up with the jangly acoustics of “The Beginning,” as she reframes life-changing events as opportunities for rebirth—inviting herself and us into the opening of a new adventure. “Let’s pretend this winter will be easy / We can listen to the same three songs on repeat / Sadness isn’t even very interesting / But I keep coming back to this old feeling,” she sings, romanticizing the uncertainty and uncomfortableness of this new dawn awaiting her.
In chasing the harmony of her planetary alignment, Tasha waltzes with airy melodies on “Be Better” and “Good Song,” turning up the volume ever so slightly and bringing a richness to the soundscape with the woodwind flourishes on the former and sci-fi synth stings on the latter. Forgoing the sparse arrangements of her previous record, Tasha opts for bigger sounds and bolder swings due in part to co-producer Gregory Uhlmann’s penchant for the grand and dramatic side of beauty.
The upbeat energy continues on the standout “Michigan,” a folk-pop gem reckoning with the pace of slowing down and leaving the commotion behind. Shimmering guitars and buoyant drums turn into slow, soft grooves on “Party,” as the arrangement crawls like molasses when Tasha dives into post-socialization anxiety as she croons, “Do they think I’m funny? / Did they like my jokes last night? / Forget every punch line / But smile through and I get by / What a strange party, what a time to be alive.” It’s a relatable slice of life head-bopper that dances slowly into the dreamy acoustics of “Nina,” a touching narrative of the beauty of friendship. The delicacy of the album’s beginning returns with the flit of the flute as she sings, “How is it that I’ve forgotten just the way / This city blooms in green /You help me remember there is so much good,” in jubilant gratitude for companionship.
The somber side of All This and So Much More emerges with “Eric Song,” an elegy to Tasha’s dearly departed friend and artistic collaborator Eric Littmann, who co-produced Tell Me What You Miss the Most and worked with artists like Julie Byrne and Vagabon before his sudden passing in 2021. “Eric Song” is a tender, minimal arrangement of guitar and cello highlighting the elegance of Tasha’s vocal as she sings to Littmann that it “turns out all this love just grows / In passing time / No I’m not alone after all / You must be near / Facing this soaring sprawl / I can hear you calling me.” It’s a love letter to their friendship, and a cathartic release of Tasha’s grief spun into a memorial for their togetherness.
Coming out of the other side of grief, “So Much More” is an anthemic jewel about cherishing the time we have on Earth through all the strife. “I’m overcome at the wonder around me / I fill my lungs / I feel the air rush inside me / Could this be fun / Could I be happy?” Tasha questions amid the ruins. A pause and appreciation for those moments in life when you start to recover from a devastating event, “So Much More,” builds until it bursts into an adoration of existence’s unmissable simplicity. The rock edge of the chugging guitars and thumping percussion grows into a magnificent gust of burning noise, mimicking an electric spark of the ease of joy. After finding solace in the novelty and excitement of newness, Tasha takes the first step towards experiencing the bliss of life again in “Love’s Changing.” “Suddenly the world is bigger than it ever felt before / Feel the weight of my future sinking in / See the joy I’m running toward,” she beams over spritely guitars and radiant piano.
All This and So Much More continues Tasha’s multi-dimensionality with its seamless blend of R&B, folk, pop and jazz, each style shining on its own but expertly supporting the story of her Saturn return. For the multi-talented musician, genre is never a consideration. It’s all about what sounds form around the emotions she is expressing. For an album about the past and growing into the future, there is a delicate balance of nostalgia and promising posterity, too. All This and So Much More asks for surrender to fate with the prospect of what the universe has to offer in its shimmering jaws of brilliance. It’s a record that reminds us to be thankful for the privilege of presence, no matter how hopeless it may feel. “I’ve loved so I know now what loss is,” she announces as the record fades away.
Olivia Abercrombie is Paste‘s Associate Music Editor, reporting from Brooklyn, New York. To hear her chat more about her favorite music, gush about old horror films, or rant about Survivor, you can follow her on Twitter @o_abercrombie.
