Joanna Newsom
Have One On Me
Rating: 4.5/5.0
Label: Drag City
In the opening song of Joanna Newsom’s third official album, Have One On Me, she sings, “But like a Bloody Mary, seen in the mirror/ Speak my name and I appear.” If only she were that easy to predict. Newsom’s career has been highlighted by playing an oddball lead instrument (folk harp), collaborating with a smorgasbord of esteemed artists (Van Dyke Parks and Jim O’Rourke) on a critically-lauded album centered on a 17-minute song with lyrics like “Bawl, bellow/ Sibyl sea-cow/ All done up in a bow,” and starring alongside some monsters in an MGMT video. She’s a musical prodigy with a sense of humor, evident in her current relationship with “Saturday Night Live” goofball Andy Samberg. So after a three-and-a-half year hiatus, is anyone surprised that Newsom returned with a two-hour, three-disc album first promoted by a comic strip on Drag City’s website?
The first song, “Easy,” serves as a microcosm for the album itself; things take a while to click, but when they do, it’s sublime. While the chord progressions and melodies jump around like the spider that Newsom is so fond of singing about, her final “easy, eaaaaaasy” melody returning near the song’s conclusion brings the song full-circle. You don’t quite know what happened in the last few minutes, but you know it made sense in a strange, strange way. Newsom’s shifting melodic genius is often overshadowed by her infamous infantile warble, which is taken back a bit from the forefront this time around, but songs like the 11-minute title track should put doubters in their place. Instrumentation gently fades in and out, keys change naturally every few minutes, and Newsom spits off endlessly amusing lyrics about six-legged millionaires, handsome brassieres and whispering Jesuits.
The album’s arrangements, courtesy of Portland-based composer Ryan Francesconi, are rich and perfectly suited for Newsom’s twisted fairy tales; bluesy horns, tasteful bursts of drums, a surprising surplus of piano and her songwriting foundation of folk harp make up the bulk of the instrumentation, though subtle surprises come in every minute of every song. There isn’t much of a jumping-off point for comparisons to past music – maybe Sufjan Stevens’ horns layered over Zeppelin organ (hear that “Stairway to Heaven” nod in the epic “Kingfisher”?) on top of gospel piano performing medieval folk anthems – but the elements are broken up and reshuffled song after song without ever sounding random or forced. Gone are Van Dyke Parks’ constant sweeping strings ever-present on Ys, and even the sparest, most Milk-Eyed of songs here lead way to some orchestral twist, such as the dirty guitar reverberations peeking through the otherwise gorgeous lullaby “Baby Birch.”
Lyrically, Newsom still paints a romantic face on the quirky, with lines like “Pretty Johnny Appleseed, via satellite feed/ Tell us, who was it that you then loved the most?” and “I glare and nod/ Like the character God/ Bearing down upon his houses and lawns.” Things get heavy in the much slower second disc, with Newsom brightly singing “hey, hey, the end is near!” before launching into five melancholy ruminations on past events and where they’ve left her. The most eyebrow-raising revelations come in “Go Long,” probably Newsom’s most personal and vicious song to date. Who knows what verses like “Last night, again, you were in my dream/ Several expendable limbs were at stake/ You were a prince, spinning rims/ All sentiments indian-given and half-baked,” mean, but it isn’t hard to imagine old flame Bill Callahan as the man in the crosshairs. She goes on to ask if “you think you can just stop when you’re ready for a change” and “who will take care of you when you’re old and dying?” Ouch. Whether all of the ire and heartbreak here is a reference to Callahan is anyone’s guess, but she wants it made clear that she got fucked over and isn’t going to shy away from letting her side of it out. (By the way, see if you can spot the verse spiked with references to Will Oldham, old friend and label-mate to both Newsom and Callahan.)
It would be difficult to isolate certain songs on Have One On Me as highlights, though the bouncy jazz and layered vocals of “Good Intentions Paving Company” is an early stand-out, one from way out in left field. Likewise, it’s nearly impossible to pick out filler; maybe three discs was a bit much, but I wouldn’t want to be the one in charge of weeding out a disc or two’s worth of music here. Just when a slower song seems to be dragging, something explodes and changes its direction; the ones that remain calm (“’81,” “Jackrabbits” and “Esme,” for example) are much too meticulously constructed and soothing to skip or complain about. The main selling points here are individual moments that sneak up on you and reel you in. Right when you decide to play it back, you’re enraptured by the hint of another momentous musical shift on the horizon. Next thing you know, you find yourself two hours into one of the most even ratios of ambition and payoff in any recent album, and you’re having a hard time hearing anything to complain about.
by Kyle Wall
