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Album Reviews
Liz
Janes is one of those enigmatic-type personalities in
the world of independent music. With nary a webpage or huge
media push for her music career, Janes simply creates
compelling music and leaves it up to her music label,
Asthmatic Kitty, to offer her music to the masses. The fact
that so little is known about Janes makes her music
all the more compelling, and despite the limited media
presence surrounding this wunderkind, I cannot help but
feeling after listening to her new full-length Poison and
Snakes that I have a good handle on who she is. You see,
Janes pours herself so wholly into her unique blend
of alt-country/doo-wop/indie-rock/folk that it’s almost hard
to imagine anyone listening to the disc without being
gripped by Janes’ self-revelation. Despite the
inclusion of a who’s who of talented musicians backing up
Janes (such as producer Rafter Roberts, who’s
worked with Tristeza, drumming by Tom Zinser
of Three Mile Pilot, the equally enigmatic Raymond
Raposa of label-mates Castanets, Michael
Kaufmann of the seminal Soul-Junk, trumpeter
Jason Crane and backup vocals and saw by Pall Jenkins
of Black Heart Procession), Poison and Snakes
poignantly portrays the emotions and ability of Liz Janes.
That’s not to say that the disc immediately grabs the
listener, because at least for me, it didn’t. Upon the first
listen, Poison and Snakes seems oddly chaotic, with
the lull of soft smoky bar blues being interrupted by
Janes’ passionate wailing, spastic guitar heroics and
crashing drums. But, the weirdness of the CD draws the
listener back, and after a few listens, it all begins to
make sense. Poison and Snakes opens with the poppy “Wonderkiller”,
which begins as a 50’s influenced song about love lost, only
to give way unexpectedly in the chorus to the aforementioned
crescendo of sound. Thematically, this song explores how a
heart broken by and earthly love can be mended through the
love of God, which immediately and (for Janes,
characteristically) defines Janes’ stance on her
faith. The great thing about Janes, though, is that
on this song and others on the disc, she explores these
elements of her faith with a sincerity that non-Christian
listeners can appreciate (in the same manner that a
Sufjan Stevens or David Bazan would). The
seething “Streetlight” follows, with its quick tempo, tense
singing, dissonant guitars, and tight melody. On this song,
Janes simply lets loose and delivers vocals that make
her sound like she is on the verge of a nervous
breakdown…reminding me of people like PJ Harvey,
Alanis Morisette, and Lori Chaffer, while not
mimicking any of these. “Streetlight” just rocks, plain and
simple, in a strange punk-meets-indie pop kind of way. The
Gospel-influenced title track follows, highlighting another
aspect of this talented singer/songwriter. “Poison and
Snakes” is a raucous hymn to the Lord, featuring more of
those charming and heartfelt lyrics, classic Gospel melodies
made new with imaginative arrangements, varied instruments
such as banjos and accordions, and Janes singing like
a southern gospel queen. “Sets to Cleaning” offers up more
of that smoky bar feel, with lazy drums, gritty-strummed
acoustic guitars, a soulful trumpet performance, and another
amazing vocal delivery by Janes in which she
transforms herself into a world-weary lounge singer.
Continuing in this vein, “Ocean” delivers an intimate vocal
performance (can you tell that I can’t get enough of
Janes’ versatile voice?), warm strings, and a folk feel
with the picked acoustic guitar giving the song a loose
structure. “Vine” and “Deep Sea Diver” both start out
softly, only to have the mood shattered with an explosion of
howling vocals and frantic guitar strumming and drum
pounding. Following these two songs, Janes totally
turns the listener upside down with “Desert”, a largely
instrumental bliss-out/psychedelic/dream concoction
featuring fluid guitar playing, angelic vocals, warm trumpet
playing, and subtle drones. For 7 minutes, “Desert”
transports the listener to another place, time stands still,
and Janes amazingly bears yet another aspect of her
multi-layered ability. The 50’s classic sounding “Go
Between” is next, with its almost patchwork song structure,
and strong melodies. After the soothing “Desert” though,
it’s almost hard to focus on this “Go Between”, as
interesting and well-played as it is. Finally rounding out
the CD is “Baby Song”, which consists of a solitary banjo
supporting absolutely sweet vocals from Janes. The
song is beautiful in its simplicity, and fittingly resembles
a lullaby, with the lyrical subject matter being a pregnant
mother singing to the expectant father in anticipation of
the baby.
Overall, Poison and Snakes is a masterfully executed
collection of songs that portray disparate styles, yet
somehow remain cohesive. I suspect that that unifying
factor, other than the perfectly played music, odd
arrangements, and strong songwriting, is simply Janes
herself. For even though her vocal delivery varies from
tortured to delicate to jaded to worshipful, the spirit of
this remarkably talented woman comes through in every song.
With an unbridled sense of creativity and catharsis, and a
unique sense of musicality, Liz Janes bears her soul
to the delights of the patient and discriminating listener
~
Brent
of
http://www.somewherecold.com
There's something to be said about spending time with an
album beyond the groggy fifteen minute 5am drive to work.
Posion & Snakes, in a car lacking perfect sound
insulation, is a nice record, a decent combo of lo-fi
21st century gospel and southern California indie rock.
Nice enough, but sort of faceless among the current
outpouring of neo-folk. However, at home and pumped
through adequate headphones, a whole undiscovered (by me)
array of interesting arrangements is brought to light.
On
every song, a clangorous palette of odds and ends
unfolds, as Janes and producer Rafter Roberts thread
sonic needles through Janes's genre spanning songwriting.
Such disparate material as the gravel road hipster bounce
of "Streetlight," the limply strummed ukulele verses of
the title track, the shambolic, free form rubble of
landfill instruments on "Sets to Cleaning" come nicely
knotted together, thanks to equal time spent studying
antique folk songbooks and production equipment manuals.
Janes has an ideal voice for this kind of
proto-everything project. She sounds most comfortable
with a lonesome hymnal warble on "Wonderkiller" and the
title song, that the vocal heights she hits on the
thunderous "Vine" are quite overwhelming. They're so
powerful that not even the sounds of the morning drive
can drown them out. In these days of constant genre
hybridization, Janes keeps most of her influences
compartmentalized, and still manages to turn in a
successful, focused record. I'm already looking forward
to the next one.
~
Aaron Shaul
of
http://www.ink19.com
"I want to play
guitar like Son House and sing like Mavis Staples," Liz
Janes says of her musical aspirations. Like others
before her, it's a noble ambition to mix the blues of a
legend with the sweet gospel grace of one of the
Staples, but putting them together is perhaps a good
idea in one's imagination. Although not nearly as
reclusive as, say, Daniel Johnston, Janes started out in
much the same fashion with a series of lo-fi cassettes
which got the attention of Sufjan Stevens. Stevens
produced her first album and the result was a lovely, if
fragile, piece of work. This new album keeps along that
path and is also something that her two influences would
nod approvingly of.
From the lazy notes that open "Wonderkiller", Janes
resembles a cross between Nancy Sinatra and PJ Harvey
circa Dance Hall at Louise Point. The '60s pop
oeuvre is backed by a female harmony, horns, and an
almost vaudeville-like jug band approach. This is before
a sweeping wall of sound engulfs singer and song, coming
in wave after wave but never drowning the tune or the
flow. "Oh he's so true, why did I ever choose you",
Janes sings during this enjoyable yet split-personality
track, before veering into lullaby, music-box dancer
turf. "Streetlight" has more rock and roll to it,
beginning with a guitar riff that resembles something
coming across the Pacific from Tokyo. The minimal
Velvets-ish tone allows the sweet Janes to loosen up
vocally as she talks about stepping over bodily fluids.
It also ventures into something of a mainstream style,
even with the haunting, eerie backing harmonies. Think
of the Aislers Set if they got a horn fetish.
As good as these first two tracks are, Janes wouldn't
have the success thus far without her fine and eclectic
supporting cast, including drummer Tom Zinser of Three
Mile Pilot and trumpet maestro Jason Crane of Rocket from
the Crypt. Nonetheless, Janes is alone and somber for the
somewhat forced traditional mountain hue of "Poison &
Snakes". Possessing a moderately Celtic touch, the track
waltzes along thanks to harmonica and a deft amount of
guitar. It wraps up at roughly the right time,
eliminating a lengthy and arduous fade-out. What works
better is the off-tempo, barren blues of "Sets to
Cleaning". Recorded off the floor, as easily discerned by
Janes' brief "ba da ba" ad-libbing to start, the song
churns slowly but gets its footing about 40 seconds in.
If you could imagine PJ Harvey collaborating with Dylan
as producer, this bizarre but entertaining nugget would
be the end result. Everything is spinning out of control,
yet Janes keeps it all spinning out in the right
direction.
After a light and airy "Ocean" that goes on for over
five minutes, Janes gets down to bare bones again on a
morbid "Vine", which has her talking about growing older
as the sun rises. Emily Joyce and Raymond Raposa assist
on drums and bass to make this creepy, eclectic ditty
come to life and almost the front of the stereo. A loud
and yet distant guitar solo a la Yo La Tengo's Ira Kaplan
colors the otherwise dreary, dirge-ish Cowboy
Junkies-like affair. The homemade quality to the album is
again apparent during "Deep Sea Diver", which includes
either a front porch swinging back and forth or a front
door opening and the squeaky spring overhead needing some
oil. Thankfully, it evolves into a lovely little
Americana amble that Janes laps up and seems at home
with, sort of like a dirtier Lucinda Williams. The first
huge mistake comes during "Desert", which is anything but
icing on the cake. Here, Janes attempts to recreate her
first piano recital with a simple elementary play on
piano and an angelic vocal that leads into strings,
horns, and a mood suitable for a Gregorian chant
marathon. Regardless of this tune, though, Janes leads
the way again on the simple, ukulele fuelled "Baby Song".
This album makes Gillian Welch sound overly produced,
which is a rarity.
~
Jason MacNeil
of http://www.popmatters.com
Liz
Janes
(Homepage)
Interview
The Crutch
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