Tara Jane O’Neil, the one-time bassist for the Kentucky math-rock band Rodan, has made nine solo records under her own name since 2000. In a 2014 interview with Fact, O’Neil remarked, “I’m not writing confessional singer-songwriter stuff, but I do think that my life informs the music I make.” Three years later, she has embraced the “singer-songwriter” label, at least according to the press release penned by her friend and author Maggie Nelson, but Tara Jane O’Neil isn’t really a confessional. Instead, the album whittles away some of 2014’s Where Shine New Lights’ experimental ambience and places O’Neil’s voice and lyrics in the spotlight. The result is a slow-burning record whose warmth stretches across its 11 track like the sun crosses the sky.
Tara Jane O’Neil requires a certain amount of attention, otherwise its unhurried beauty can get lost. Details matter here. In some places, you can see a clear line to O’Neil’s darker, earlier work. Opener “Flutter” begins with traces of Where Shine New Lights’ ghostly tremors thanks to James Elkington’s spooky eerie pedal steel playing. A haunted feeling lingers through the earlier part of the record as O’Neil sings of “the sun, a black star,” “ghost breath,” and “graves and jewels.” The woozy trumpet of “Sand” could soundtrack a spirit’s waltz across dunes; “Let the flow and the coyote lead you/Let the moon be in the morning sky, blue/Let there be another in the making,” she sings on the celestial “Joshua.” The restorative power of nature has been an abiding trait of O’Neil’s music, but here the instruments and lyrics seem more intertwined than ever.
But Tara Jane O’Neil really takes flight in its center, when songs open up and turn brighter. O’Neil’s soft voice and the quivering guitar offer a feeling of blissful peace, as she touches on love (the upbeat “Laugh”) and unity (the euphoric “Kelley”). And then there’s the standout track “Cali,” an anecdote about folk’s favorite subject. “You called me California true bird,” O’Neil sings in a moody, minimal drawl. It would be too easy to say that O’Neil resembles Joni Mitchell here, but “Cali” truly does contain the windswept contentment. On these tracks, O’Neil’s voice conveys the light strength and easygoing introspection of Judee Sill and Mitchell’s Laurel Canyon compatriot David Crosby. After these moments, Tara Jane O’Neil’s sun begins to set as it moves again into a bookending coolness.
These songs ask for nothing more than patience, attention, and a willingness to submit to a lush idyllic. They lack structural tension and contain few, if any, surprises. Because of this, there is not too much to pick apart. O’Neil presents first-person narratives, and as a listener, we are left peering through a small window into her internal world. But while remaining as obtuse as ever, O’Neil’s newfound appreciation for singer-songwriter-dom presents some of her most personal work yet.
