Dawn Smithson played bass and sang for the ambitious, Kraut-inspired combo Jessamine, and has recently performed with doom-metal behemoths Sunn O))), so it comes as a mild surprise to witness her transition to the quiet, contemplative solo space of Safer Here. In an artistic progression strikingly similar to that of former Eric's Trip bassist Julie Doiron, Smithson has crafted a home-recorded, bittersweet songcycle in reverence of solitude. Utilizing a skeletal, percussion-less backdrop, the album centers its hermetic gaze upon Smithson's serene vocals and intimate, plainspoken lyrics to create an inviting haven, while coolly ignoring the fact that in music such safety is not necessarily the highest virtue.
"I may not be happy/ At least I know I'm Safer Here/ Nothing to fear," Smithson sings on the opener and title track, setting the album's melancholic tone of resigned isolation. And despite tasteful contributions such guests as Rex Ritter (Jessamine, Fontanelle) and Brian Foote (Fontanelle, Nudge)-- in addition to Smithson's skillful vocal and instrumental overdubs-- tracks such as "Somewhere Far" and "How Thoughtless" still sound resolutely isolated, as though constructed miles apart from gainful human contact. Unfortunately, however, Smithson's performances here lack the ecstatic fervor of Kranky labelmate Christina Carter's solo works, or the soul-plumbing intensity of Cat Power, and instead too often settles into rather faceless bedroom indie-strum.
Perhaps the roots of the album's retreating solitude are exposed on tracks like the heartsick "Nowhere Near" ("I remember wondering how I'd ever get over you"), or the angry "Letter to the Empire", which delivers politically-charged journal entries like "I prefer to trust my eyes/ And all I see is pointless death," or "When you say liberate, you're lying" with a lullaby coo rather than a bullhorn. This overriding sense of disillusion and loss reaches a depressive apex on "Ticking Away", whose narrator seems trapped in defeated stasis, lamenting "While the seasons turn/ I just stand here watching/ Waiting for something to push me on," over an acoustic guitar that chimes with the nagging regularity of a grandfather clock.
On the layered "Speak Through Me", Smithson adds a toothsome dissonance to her overdubbed vocal roundelay, and David Farrell's synth swells provide "A New Day" with a graceful drone. Such flourishes do wonders to spruce up Safer Here's spare sonic terrain, and as the album draws to its uncertain finish on "Crossroads" ("So much is wasted/ I can't look anymore/ For fear I might drown"), it seems reasonable to conclude that next time, Smithson might be well served-- musically and otherwise-- to stray much farther from her erstwhile comfort zone.
