Quick, wrap a towel around your wrists! The new Jana McCall album is here, and that means you'll want to stick around for at least another 45 minutes. That opening sentence might seem tasteless, but if it does, it's probably because you aren't familiar with the sleepy, mournful tunes that are Jana's stock in trade. Think of it as simply addressing her target audience. Fortunately, with Slumber, Miss McCall has succeeded in crafting an album of remarkable strength, sorrow, and diversity, all while maintaining her peculiar brand of eerily melodic atmospherics. There's a lot to like here, even if you aren't quite ready to teach this cold, cruel world a lesson and shuffle off this mortal coil. If you are, though, don't rule it out as the soundtrack for an absinthe overdose.
Okay, so I'm exaggerating slightly. Slumber isn't truly depressing; it's just moody and evocative. McCall's debut highlighted her remarkable ability to lead the listener through deep sojourns across dusty sonic backroads, distantly guided by the gloomy, western light of Mazzy Star. The self-titled debut was a compelling bit of theater, but in the end, McCall's gloom-and-doom folk started to wear itself out, if only out of consistency which bordered on homogeneity. Slumber, though, manages to take the sounds of the Cowboy Junkies at their most sober and subdued and greatly expand upon them-- the flourishes of varied instrumentation and tone completely rejuvenate McCall's carefully crafted ballads. Airy strings, errant electronic tones, and what may or may not be a tuba (no promises) on "Carolina's Crown" work wonders to deepen this album's sound.
From the outset, "Eyes Aglow" makes it clear that Jana won't be satisfied by merely producing dulcet melodies (even though she later proves on several tracks that she's more than up to the task); she presents the accompaniment of awkward, slightly dissonant synthetic notes that don't quite fit. It challenges the listener immediately, if only subtly-- her dusky, heartfelt vocals supported by tones which just aren't quite right. It's distracting, but only for a moment, and once the strangeness is reconciled, it's truly gripping. The desire to confront the listener continues with the horns on "Carolina's Crown" and the screeching electronics behind "Bloodlines," and proceeds to recur throughout. In rare instances, it does more harm than good by putting too much distance between the music and the listener, but it's ambitious nonetheless.
Thematically, Slumber doesn't stray far from the hangman's noose, and doomsday lyrics along the lines of, "Today is a brand new day/ Waiting for the sun to die/ Inside your mind," lose their impact after six or seven different configurations. More than once, McCall steers the album dangerously close to ambient darkwave, a la Lycia, when these vocals are coupled with Slumber's most plodding, aimless cuts. Still, that's not necessarily a bad thing in small doses, and McCall does an enviable job of pacing the album to prevent it from falling into the trap of her debut. There's a lot of minute variety present, and she never goes too far into a dismal stretch without providing at least a glimmer of light at the end of a .45 caliber barrel. Some of the most transcendent moments come from the gorgeous, uplifting strings at the close of "Birthday," the soothing strings of "Bloodlines" which offset the electronic background wailing, and the electric guitar straight out of The Phantom of the Opera on "Echoes" which is followed briefly by a surge of cascading synths, horns, and vocal harmonies.
And naturally, the thread that binds this darkling web of songs together is the voice of McCall herself. Most of the album is characterized by a sultry half-whisper or lullaby, which goes a long way towards selling the creepy imagery she waxes on about. Occasionally, she jumps to a higher register ("Clary") just to indicate range (and she has plenty), but no matter what, her vocals are always the strongest asset. Which is lucky for her, since it's tough to be a singer/songwriter if you can't fit your voice to your music-- especially when that music is brooding, spacious gothic-tinged folk.
