[rating=9]
Even though Marissa Nadler’s most recent offering, the eponymous Marissa Nadler (out on her own imprint Box of Cedars), is her most articulate and sophisticated release yet, it’s exceedingly difficult to define. This differential at points verges on the comical, leading the listener into a world unto its own, whose logic at first seems apparent but upon repeating entries becomes muddled and mystifying. Nadler has never shied away from the melodramatic; in fact, she’s embraced it and re-wrought its faces so that it acts as a backdrop, rather than a leading figure in her songs. Anyone who has listened to Nadler’s work knows of her extensive history with love found and lost, with relationships dissolved and destroyed, with light flickering out at the ease of a gentle blow. The fragility of human existence vis-à-vis companionship could even be labeled as Nadler’s champion– the denouement, the absolute. Instead of wallow in inevitability or sulk in the frustrations, Nadler engages her well-worn subject matter and has created an album worthy of attention. Marissa Nadler is a tour de force of a record, tight and lithe with a sharp economy of word, but expansive and sweeping sonically, thanks very much in part to Brian McTear’s skillful production.
The album begins with the elegant lament “In Your Lair, Bear,” which chronicles two lovers who allow (and even encourage) the dissolution of their life together. It’s a haunting six-minute masterpiece, and certainly one of the album’s highlights. Nadler’s voice is soothing, captivating and warm, which surprisingly works for a song about such devastation. Rather than distance herself from the wreckage and claim the victim, she fully acknowledges the factor to which her playing the part of this saga caused such despair. This continues to be a theme for much of this record, in that the acceptance of the push-pull dynamic– that power struggles rarely are cut and dry, and thus there are two points of blame– rounds out Marissa Nadler and gives it a genuine approach to melancholy that is so often blundered in indie/folk music.
The emotional acumen with which Nadler shapes these songs has never been more honed. In fact, the record reads as someone who trudged through more than their fair share of young woman’s angst, fully weighted in the chaos, only to emerge with a keener vision of the extent and figure of sorrow. It’s as if the ghosts we all contributed to Nadler’s enigmatic persona have left, leaving in their wake the Marissa Nadler so beautiful exemplified on this album: one of adroit intellect, mournful eyes and intoxicating melodies. And quite frankly, this is why Marissa Nadler is the most exciting project from the artist in her career.
When an album conjures a series of wildly different novels from each of its songs, either the songwriter has shirked all responsibility of guiding the listener through their stories, or the songs are so rich with history, musing and depth that they act as starting points. Nadler has been criticized for not being as grand or cerebral as contemporaries Joanna Newsom and Robin Pecknold (of the Fleet Foxes), but after a few listens of Marissa Nadler, it becomes clearly evident that while she doesn’t harness those musicians’ turn of phrase or poetic reverie, her artistry is no less dexterous or sensual. “Alabaster Queen” may be short lyrically, but its concise expressions open up a visual world of wide-ranging beauty. “Baby I Will Leave You In The Morning,” the album’s first-rate lead single, hits on a delicious film-noir spark, lavishly building in intensity over its four-minute length. These songs require a suspension of reality and a unbridled visual imagination, as they’re rife with spellbinding characters.
Even though this is by far Nadler’s most immediate and affecting release, it has a few moments that are trying in their consistent obtuseness. “Little King” has an engaging finger-picked guitar line and immediate melody, but it just doesn’t feel at home with the rest of the work on Marissa Nadler. The banjo sounds careless, and the usage of violent imagery (“rifles” juxtaposed with “bibles”) doesn’t sync with the song. “Wedding,” on the other hand, is graceful in its waltz tempo and shimmering echo, but is flat lyrically. The plaintive call for reciprocity, and ultimate betrothal, is cloying and oddly sappy.
When Nadler focuses her songwriting and zooms in on a specific emotion, metaphor or story, she’s most successful. “Daisy, Where Did You Go?” is written from the perspective of a conjoined twin, Violet Hilton, who just lost her other half, Daisy, and is anticipating her own death as their shared blood weakens and their souls escape from their mangled body. Rather than play on the mawkish and sophomoric humor of conjoined twins (see: Amanda Palmer as Evelyn Evelyn), Nadler immerses her lyric and melody into this story of impending doom and unfettered loyalty. Whereas so much of her own material focuses on the demise of a relationship between two distinct bodies, this elegy for the end of Violet and Daisy’s life reads more as a love letter than anything else– an homage to the life they shared, forced together by physicality.
When Nadler zooms in on the story and steps back into her role as songwriter, she is deft and more than capable. Her ever-present awareness of her strengths and failures as an artist, and her dedication to teasing them out aesthetically is what marks Marissa Nadler as a force in the indie/folk world. Often written off and shamefully overlooked, she’s an artist who has produced such a brilliant catalog of work that it’s frustrating to see her have to resort to a Kickstarter campaign to fund this album. It’s impossible to say if that struggle was the main impetus that yielded such a stunning collection of songs, but it does demonstrate Nadler’s enthusiasm and dedication to her craft. Thankfully, we’re the recipients of that talent, and hopefully the power of the virtuosity that is Marissa Nadler will continue to inspire her to write and record music for all of us to hear.
