A cheesy TV show tells us that America's got talent. If only
forging a music career were as easy as a few moments of instant fame under the
camera's glare. The music industry can be especially brutal for women, only a
handful of whom break through past the age of 30. (Debbie Harry, Rachel
Platten, and Lori McKenna spring to mind.) Let's be blunt: there's an
oversupply of female vocalists with "pretty," but small voices. How
does one break away from the pack before the fullness of one's vocal patina
oxidizes? Here's a sampling of female singers handling that question well.
Laura Cortese is another
superb talent from Boston's Berklee School of Music. She's also something of a
vet by now—a cofounder of the Hub's Celtic Music Festival, has performed with
mighty lineups (including Band of Horses and Uncle Earl), and has just released
California Calling, her seventh album. She
fronts a very cool band called The Dance
Cards: Jenna Moynihan (fiddle, banjo), Valerie Thompson (cello), Natalie
Bohrn (bass), and Sam Kassirer (keys). Collectively they evoke the harmonies of
The Wailin' Jennys, but with more adventuresome instrumentation. Cortese's
leads are noted less for their clarity or virtuosity than for their emotional
power. The bluegrassy "Low Hum"—bronzed by Moynihan's banjo—is both
ethereal and drone drenched; those such as "Skipping Stones" and
"If You Can Hear Me" are reverberant in the way voices sound in a
sparsely furnished room. The title track has echoes of Enya, though the overall
piece is hipper and Thompson's cello infuses nervous energy. Other standouts
include the rhythmic "Stockholm," the soulful "Pace
Myself," and "Rhodedendron [sic]," with vocals appropriate for a
gospel choir. ★★★★
Mary Bragg also
shines by fronting a band, in her case a gritty one: Rich Hinson
(electric/pedal steel guitar), Jimmy Sullivan (bass), Bryan Owings (drums), and
various guests with whom she co-wrote the ten songs on Lucky Strike. Before
landing in Nashville, Bragg left Georgia to spend some time working in New York
City soup kitchens where, as the expression goes, she saw some things. Many of
the characters on this album are on the wrong side of life's margins: a young
woman who fled her emotionally abusive preacher father ("Bayou
Lullaby,"), vagabonds ("Drifters Hymn,") those who can't move on
"(Isn't It Over Yet,"), and—a personal favorite, the robust
"Wreck and Ruin," a whole town full of people who've been kicked in
the teeth: Left—nobody gets left in this
town/Everybody here has already done all their letting down. It was
co-written with Becky Warren (as were three other songs) and it's not a song
for terminal optimists: We've given up
giving a damn about broken hearts. The title track is like that too; in
Bragg's words, it's a "sarcastic poke at hopefulness." She sings … looking for a lucky strike/To pull me out of
the back of the line. Don't hold your breath! Another favorite is
"Wildfire," which she penned with the talented Liz Longley. It's about
dangerous attraction: Wildfire, there's
nothing like a wildfire/Feeling that you can't put out/Loving that you can't
turn down…. Bragg's songs are mostly in the country rock/country folk side
of the musical ledger, but don't let her dulcet tones fool you; she's tough as
nails.****
Speaking of grit, St. Louis-based Beth Bombara isn't afraid to sing about the depths because she's
plumbed them. Her latest, Map & No Direction is the product of two years of battling
with depression. "Sweet Time," which honors her husband's role in
helping her through, is evocative of retro Sam Cooke, but with a softer
cheek-to-cheek slow dance feel. Don't get used to this—most of Bombara's
material has a harder edge. The title track is edgy and urgent and arranged
rootless roots style, by which I mean it opens folky and melodic but slides
into bold and crunchy. Apparently part of Bombara's recovery involves kicking
out the jams. "When I Woke Up" and "Made For Now" are
no-frills rock with drums pounding and guitar licks slicing the seams. "I Tried (Too Late)" also rocks and parts recall Jackson Browne. Every
song on this recording is a winner but—as much as Dylan devotees will spew venom—her
cover of "Blind Willie McTell" surpasses the original. Bombara draws comparisons
to Aimee Mann, though a St. Louis newspaper called her a "bourbon warmed
Neko Case." I can't top that, so let's go with it. ★★★★
Canada's Melissa Plett
serves country twang with folk and soul seasoning. Although there are
contemporary elements, Ghost Town features time-honored country
recipes: broken hearts, strong drink, bad times, revenge, and death. Even the
waltz tempo "Stay" begins like a lover's supplication, but it's actually
about missing her mother. Plett's titles alert us to look for the dark amidst the
light: "Sunshine and Liquor," "Gone," "Handle of Whisky…." (I've got a handle of good whisky/Don't got a
handle on my heart.) The old valentine is also an issue on
"Sideways," in which she walks away from temptation, but isn't sure
if that's wise or regrettable. "Mexico" warns of the perils of
seeking miracles, and the piercing sting of "Trigger" has a chilling
resolution. Plett's voice is, at turns, vulnerable, husky, and emotive—often
with a catch that stops just short of a yodel. Occasionally, she pushes things
too close to the top of her range, but this project has appealing throwback
vibe that redeems—even if Plett is skeptical of that sort of thing. ★★★
A quick word on an older release that recently came to my
attention. Molly Bush hails from
Texas and lives in Nashville, but her 2016 From a Year Ago, Forget About It is
suggestive of what someone with folk sensibilities can do with musicians who
know when to lay back and when to lay it on. Bush has a lovely, clear voice and
I was impressed by how she switched from the simple and sweet ("Letter
Song"), to shimmery ("Sailboats"), to let-it-rip
("Spirit"). Maybe next release I'll catch her in the same calendar year!
Rob Weir
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