HANNAH MILLER
Hannah Miller
Sputnik Sound
* * * *
Think of the woman standing alone in a smoky bar at
midnight–the one with the low-cut red dress who exudes desire and danger. If
she made a record, it would sound like the latest from Hannah Miller. Miller
states that she wanted to make a record without "coffeehouse-friendly
songs." This one will certainly send the crystals-and-rainbows crowd
running for cover! This is a very dark album. How dark? "Promise Land" is a reflection on the Chernobyl disaster, and it's not even close
to being the hardest song of the bunch. "Been Around" might well be
the album's theme song. Gothic organ notes spill out as she sings: "I
ain't nobody's fool/I know what you're up to/It's not my first time out/I'm not
new in town/I've been around." Later she intones: "Your words don't
break my bones/I'm full of sticks and stones." Think she's kidding? "While
you go down in flames/I play it cool/Cause I'm the one playing you/Like a
fool."
Had you fill of little girl voices and frothy pop? Check out
Miller's guttural, grown-up voice and tough songs. The dominant instrument on
most of her songs is the bass—the chunkier and more ominous the better. The
mood is somber, the pacing deliberate, the lighting set to low, and the mood
dialed to no-nonsense. Her "Watchman" is a grim reaper, "Soothed"
means she's come to terms with having come undone, and "You Don't
Call" doesn't wallow: "You don't call any more/and that's fine."
The closest she gets to sunny is "Outside In," the album's folkiest
song, in which she tries to convince a lover that it's okay to get close. But
she follows it with "Leaving," the album's grittiest song, one about
a woman damaged by a broken and abusive family, betrayed trust, and so many
disappointments that she's emotionally empty. "Go on and try to make me
feel anything/What's a little leaving to a girl like me?" Yowser!
Sound bleak? Yes, but here's the other thing: this is a
seriously good album. It's filled with Chris Isaak-like reverb, amazing bass
from Kevin Whitset, and loads of texturing synth, organ, keyboards, and
guitar–all of which serve the songs brilliantly. Miller's voice is husky when
it needs to be, vulnerable if called for, and as sharp as a knife when she
needs to cut someone down to size. Miller's neither an innocent nor a shrinking
violet; hers are songs for femmes fatale and revenge seekers, but also ones
that demand acceptance of the music and of Ms. Miller on her terms. Call it ice
and fire, sexy and sultry. Call it one of the year's smartest records. Rob Weir
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