by Robin Brenner
I must admit I was a bit skeptical when I received Daisy DeBolt's CDs,
as the cover sporting photos of a woman with an accordion and tracks
titled "Go to Sleep You Little Creep" puzzled me and made me wonder just
what I was getting in to. What I was in for is a remarkable mixture of
almost every tradition, from jazz to rock to country, all brought together
by DeBolt's strong, husky and uncharacteristically beautiful voice.
Paradise starts off the album feeling a bit like a fairy song,
complete with a wandering guitar and pipe leading into the heart of the
tune. DeBolt's voice is immediately remarkable, and backed by the strong
beat and a combination of her trademark accordion, fiddles, guitars and
percussion, she creates fun and rambunctious music with a great jazzy
finish. The entire album feels like a wonderfully in-sync jam session
among friends (and may very well be), and DeBolt proves to be a capable
and inspired leader.
Bag Lady Blues moves more toward rock than the country beginning,
although there is choral back up which adds gospel and blues to the mix.
The lyrics provide a proud song of a bag lady, with a strong sense of
voice and personality. The song ends up feeling a little like a
Catsesque lament, though the lyrics take it down a notch, beginning
with "Remember Lucy / Remember the Watusi" to "There she goes down the
street / What, haven't you seen shopping bags before?"
Hurtin' Country Swimmin' Song features slide guitar, and the country
beat is certainly definite. The happy feeling of the music distracts from
the sad theme of the song (as the lyrics say, "happiness cannot be defined
by you ... I don't know about love anymore, I just know it don't work, you
just learn not to care."
Healing Sky, a quiet piano ballad, recalls a '40s torch singer, not
unlike Rita Hayworth singing "Put the Blame on Mame" in Gilda.
DeBolt's vibrato voice feels more like an instrument at times, adding a
low, melancholy melody to this contemplation of friendship and
comfort.
Windfall begins a bit like "Paradise," with the percussion leading,
accordion entering in with yearning note, and then the bass rolling in a
swing beat. In an unexpected connection, I was reminded of Ani di Franco
and Dar Williams with this song, meditating on travel and the harsher
emotions, mainly because of DeBolt's unshakeable attitiude and use or
words and their rhythms with just as much importance as the
intruments.
Long Hot Summer, one of the longer tracks of many long songs (though
certainly none of them drag), begins with a moody electric guitar. The
tune feels almost solemn, a feeling compounded by the wordless choral
backup and the lyrics: "still looking for his wife / even though she's
been gone a year / or two, or three / He can't remember / He can't recall
/ there's only shadows on the wall." Not too soon, however, the melody
moves slowly into more of a beat, into a way to survive the heat wave of
the title and ends on a much groovier and more hopeful note.
Clydesdales and Cadillacs melds well with the finish of "Long Hot
Summer," though it is a much angrier song. A dark, heavy beat filled with
mourning voices, though not without energy, adds weight to the issues
addressed, the song a condemnation of ignoring the land and excess of
industry.
Winter #16 falls into the torch song category again, a long,
lamenting song, both melodic and melancholy, but interestingly not a
broken figure. The lyrics again are eerily evocative, from "an old woman
sleeps with a young moon in her arms" and the echoing landscape of "trees
who do not remember leaves dance sadly." The song turns into a kind of
off-key tango while DeBolt's voice offers an unusual fragility.
Arizona Dream throws off the sadness of the last track and drops
right into a calling to travel and escape the familiar. The sharp
beginning knocks you out of the calm "Winter #16" left you in and
encourages you to both bounce again and imagine a different place to call
home.
The title track, I Can, is unexpectedly eerie in its use of
electronic instruments. The song is a calm and almost reverant tribute to
the power of memory. DeBolt's usual instruments weave through the
backdrop, a cello soaring through the finish. The repetitive phrasing of
the title becomes a mantra and a beat.
Great Big Silver Dinosaurs is strange, melodramatic, true and
ridiculous as a fairy tale and full of just as much energy and
storytelling. The beat sounds almost dangerous, and the accompanying
language feels like a tale for either a child or an adult who still has a
sense of wonder, although the story feels more serious than it seems at
first.
Go To Sleep You Little Creep is a great, whacked-out lullaby, and
seems to have no deeper meaning than that. Which, in fact, is rather
refreshing. The German translation is a little mysterious, but it seems to
fit the song well.
Log takes the album back to a gentle ballad. The music echoes the
subject of companionship, daily comforts and relaxation.
The final cut of the album, The River Sings In E, involves all of the
energy and many-piece band that is DeBolt's trademark. Beginning with a
prelude of river sounds, leading from insects singing to a fiddle, then
guitar and then finally resolving itself into a rhythm and melody. From
there it takes off into a strong and satisfyingly raucous finale.
All in all, Daisy DeBolt is not only a lot of fun, but also gifted with
a fine-tuned sense of human nature, rhythm, music, and just how much good
it can do to sing along with an album. So get your vocal chords warmed up
and pop in this CD for an exuberant ride in DeBolt's imagination and
heart.