Joanna Newsom’s 2004 debut, The Milk-Eyed Mender, turned reasonably intelligent people into reductive assholes. You were either charmed by the harpist, whose vocals made her sound like a half-crazy/retarded/ancient Appalachian woman/autistic toddler, or you wrote her off as a Renaissance Fair addict. It was your favorite record, or it made you definitively dismiss the opinions of blogs and Pitchfork. I was pretty much sold within the first few seconds of “Bridges and Balloons,” though often skipped a few songs to listen to the five gems on possibly the most divisive debut since The Slim Shady LP.
The record didn’t solidify for me until I walked one rainy night through Washington Square Park, listening to “Sadie” while a kid in a red raincoat and beret jumped off her tricycle to grab a falling leaf. It rendered the songs cinematic (memo to Wes Anderson). That’s the thing about Newsom: At a certain point her clever wordplay and idiosyncratic vocalizing explode into moments of stunning emotional clarity.
Yeah, the voice: Björk plus the Carter Family. It’s no more distracting than late-period Tom Waits. Or Dylan. Let’s put the boys to rest; here’s the heir to Bob’s throne. Intricate rhyme schemes, arcane diction, mythological references—all delivered by a voice only a dying cat (or dying-cat enthusiasts) could love, sometimes in incredibly belabored cadence like she’s competing with Fiona Apple to be the progenitor of 2017’s hot trend of white-girl orchestral rap.
Her new album, Ys, is similar to Apple’s transition between debut and sophomore effort: meatier, more muscular, an expansion of her themes and musical ideas that obliterates the faults of the debut. Recruiting some heavy hitters (Steve Albini, James O’Rourke, Van Dyke Parks and a hilarious cameo by Smog’s Bill Callahan), Ys showcases Newsom at the top of anyone’s game—indie rock ingénue or otherwise. Five songs clock in at nearly an hour. It’s not the easiest or most accessible listen, but her narratives are allowed room to breathe, bloom and unfold. Though they may seem unintelligible—wrought with wicked rhyme-spitting, vocal acrobatics and seemingly-distracting orchestration—the songs gain resonance with each subsequent listen.
Newsom plays two shows on Nov. 13 at Webster Hall. Be in awe of her sheer endurance as she plucks her harp and belly-squawks for nearly 17 goddamn minutes during “Only Skin.” Discover this decade’s most promising new songwriter. You may leave questioning her sanity—or better yet, yours.
Nov. 13. Webster Hall, 125 E. 11th St. (betw. 3rd & 4th Aves.), 212-353-1600; 5 & 9:30, $20.
