The average American will sleep 216,000 hours in their lifetime, give or take some tosses and turns. Of those hours, about 5%-- or 11,000 full clock turns-- are spent in a state somewhere between slumber and alert, when you're not sure where you are or what day it is or if that lingering dread is real or just a remnant of a nasty dream. Detroit-raised, Brooklyn-based 27-year-old Holly Miranda's debut album is the soundtrack to that uncertain limbo. The double-edged realm is depicted on the cover of The Magician's Private Library, which shows a young girl lying on the grass with arrows surrounding her body. "Every time I go to sleep I kick and scream and dream a little bit/ Violently awakening to what's real is really bullshit," sings Miranda on the LP, her bluesy wonder of a voice bringing the alarm clock's evil chime to life. This is also music to fall asleep to-- soothing thanks in part to producer Dave Sitek of TV on the Radio, who helps to provide pillowy, languid atmospherics. But whether the resulting zzz's are peaceful is another matter.
Miranda currently resides in Brooklyn, but she doesn't fit the Brooklyn mold in 2010, which is defined by noisy, lo-fi bluster on one end (Crystal Stilts, Vivian Girls) and picayune intricacy on the other (Grizzly Bear, Dirty Projectors). She's a bona-fide singer-songwriter who can and will simply sell a song around just her voice and the sound of an acoustic guitar. In this way, she's more akin to Jeff Buckley-- who gigged relentlessly with nothing more than his guitar and a vast catalogue of disparate songs before his break-- than the alternately kooky, maudlin, or devastatingly scared Cat Power, to whom she's often compared.
Miranda's sense of wounded mystery and her sometimes surprising choice of covers bolsters comparisons to Buckley, who dealt with his own half-awake thoughts on Grace's "Dream Brother". Recently, she's reworked Lauryn Hill's "Ex-Factor", Buckley's own "Lover, You Should've Come Over", and, most surprisingly, Tool's "Ænema". "It's a bullshit three ring circus side show," she seeths on the Tool cover, a sentiment not terribly far removed from her "reality as bullshit" stance on Library. Because while the album's airy arrangements and gentle flourishes make it perfect for "very special" moments on cheesy hospital dramas, Miranda's mature, world-weary inflections bring everything-- nightmares, hopes, loss-- to the fore. (Notably, the recording of the album was financed by publisher Chrysalis Music, who helped nab a "Grey's Anatomy" placement for Miranda's old band, the dutiful guitar-rock act Jealous Girlfriends.)
Her crackling vocals lend themselves to murkiness and intrigue, and Library's best tracks bring those traits forward. On the twinkling "Waves", the singer is stoic in the face of loss: "Where do the waves go, my love?" she asks, while the swirling music hides a wicked, unseen undertow. And her breathy sensuality makes "Slow Burn Treason"-- a duet with TV on the Radio's Kyp Malone-- and "Canvas" simmer. When she sings "Curl yourself around my frame/ Our canvas is still one that's blank," she recalls Sade's effortless cool. Elsewhere, sprightly and cloying arrangements bring Miranda out from the shadows, but the exposure does her no favors on "Sweet Dreams" and "Everytime I Go to Sleep". And synthetic "Kashmir"-like touches turn the pun-filled "No One Just Is" into an instant trip-hopping relic. While Miranda is gifted with Buckley's soulful earnestness, she doesn't have his range.
The Magician's Private Library isn't an attention-grabbing debut in the plain sense. The best moments drift along naturally and without hassle. And there's an inherent modesty involved in Miranda's personality as a performer. All that makes her a welcoming, supremely likable figure, but it also puts her in danger of blending in with her surroundings-- whether it be a bustling cafe or a too-easy TV spot. That half-awake state that greets us each morning can be intoxicating, but eventually we have to decide whether to hit snooze or stumble into the shower.
