With its smoky speakeasy atmosphere, old-timey instrumentation, and pre-rock aesthetic, Jolie Holland's third album, Springtime Can Kill You, is a record-collection album that seems more interested in acetate than vinyl-- her sound reaches back to Prohibition, and these dozen songs seem soaked in hooch and hung out to dry with last night's flapper dress. On one hand, she occasionally seems torn between the past and the present, but in a noncommittal way-- for "Moonshiner" she pointedly gives "props to Memphis Minnie and Freakwater" in the liner notes. On the other, she plays to her audience rather than trying to impress them, which makes Springtime surprisingly accessible-- at its best it surpasses costume drama and formal exercise to become a kind of one-woman subgenre.
Musically, Springtime is decidedly low-key. The homemade jazz, often reeking of bathtub gin, creates a noir moodiness that pervades the album. The pace alternates between an amiable, low-key jaunt and a low simmer that perfectly suits the lyrics (written by Holland and collaborator Brian Miller) but creates longueurs during the middle and second half of the album. The title track and "Please Don't" bow under their slow momentum and overly subdued melodies, and "Ghostly Girl" threatens to dissipate into mist at any moment-- a neat trick, but the song never quite solidifies either.
Every element on Springtime-- the relaxed tempos, fluid arrangements, dark moods, unobtrusive instrumentation-- is deployed in service to Holland's decidedly eccentric voice. She overforms her syllables sleepily, rolling her vowels and accentuating various consonants so that her phrasing rubs up against the rhythms of the songs. Like fellow Texan Willie Nelson, she dances around the beat but never breaks meter, and the result creates a mood of playfulness and emotional investment that redeems the otherwise dour "Crazy Dreams" and "Mehitabel's Blues" (which, sadly, is not about Don Marquis's cat).
The singer and the album are at their best when the music escapes that simmer and boils over. "Stubborn Beast" is a powerful ode to self-delusion ("like a stubborn beast when the barn is on fire/ I might resist you when you try to save my life") featuring one of Holland's fieriest performances. "Nothing to Do But Dream" and "Adieu False Heart" are each C&W melody and momentum, mirroring the confessional intensity of the lyrics as they build to crescendos. But these songs are just lead-ins to the album's climax, "Mexican Blue", purportedly an ode to Holland's former band, the Be-Good Tanyas. Rather than relying on decades-old tropes, it creates something new and personal from these elements, revealing the range and reach of Holland's voice and songwriting.
