There are a lot of interesting contradictions going on with Brooklyn singer-songwriter Samara Lubelski. She's recorded a diverse range of bands at the Rare Book Room (Fiery Furnaces, Deerhunter, Sightings, Magik Markers, etc.), yet her own music sticks to a pretty small sonic range. She often uses multiple guests on her albums-- Parallel Suns includes Metabolismus, P.G. Six, the Clean's Hamish Kilgour, and more-- yet her orchestrated tunes have an intimate, private feel. Most interestingly, her musical approach seems like a recipe for banality, offering slight variations on the same stylistic theme. Yet her songs are rarely boring, and often rich and nuanced. Like many musical minimalists, Lubelski finds variety in consistency, coaxing a rainbow from a few sonic shades.
Lubelski does this better than ever on Parallel Suns, her third solo album. The key is the way she straddles moods, creating an emotional depth that fascinates regardless of how much each song sounds like the last. Here, she mixes sweetness with melancholy so tightly that the two sentiments sound like sides of a twirling coin. That effect is strongest in her hypnotic voice, whose soft semi-whisper evokes the muted hush of Vashti Bunyan, but is even more transfixing. Check out how her thick breaths lift the lullaby-like "Snowy Meadows II", or how her cool hum rises to meet the swells in "Greener Grass". Her voice has a knack for shaping each song without ever outrunning it.
Still, Lubelski's singing has always been this good, as have her songs. What makes Parallel Suns her best record is its sequencing, as it moves smoothly through subtle ebbs and flows. The first three tracks set this pattern: the slow awakening of "Have You Seen the Colors" melts gradually into the insistent pulse of "Taste the Candy", which rides into the reflective, organ-driven instrumental "Meeting of the Sun". Eventually things peak with "The Cloistered Palace", whose irresistible hooks seem to climb higher with each verse. The final three tracks offer an extended denouement, like a descent back down from an eye-opening mountain climb.
It would be easy to fault Lubleski for lack of sonic variety, and admittedly her appeals aren't universal. If her style doesn't grab you on first listen, all the small shifts and slight curves probably won't register on subsequent attempts. But for anyone inclined toward her brand of gentle magic-- and really, it's pretty hard not to like-- Parallel Suns is the musical equivalent of a hypnotist's swinging timepiece, blissfully entrancing in its steady beauty.
