Sarah McLachlan
Fumbling Towards Ecstasy
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Sarah McLachlan belongs to an underappreciated group of women artists – also including Sam Phillips and Jane Siberry – who deliver lush folk pop with a haunted intelligence and slowburn sensuality that's every bit as potent, in its delicate way, as the bawdy majesty of, say, Polly Harvey. Granted, McLachlan is neither as gifted a writer nor as distinctive a musician as Phillips or Siberry – or Harvey, for that matter – and the Canadian singer's third album, Fumbling Towards Ecstasy, offers less-buoyant hooks and more-muted arrangements than her last effort, Solace (1992), did. Still, there are moments of quiet radiance on Ecstasy, and even the more-elusive
Read More songs reveal a passionate dignity. McLachlan's most compelling musical attribute continues to be her voice, a breathy soprano wail that transcends the waiflike languor characterizing some of today's more lyrical female singers by virtue of its technical strength and emotional vitality. Her producer, Pierre Marchand, is a protégé of Daniel Lanois'; like his mentor, Marchand knows how to craft atmospheric backdrops that support, rather than overshadow, emotive vocals. The first track, "Possession," opens as an airy ballad, with only organ chords embellishing McLachlan's plaintive singing; then chiming guitars and a lithe hip-hop beat kick in as she exhorts and tempts a lover. On "Wait" the guitars throb with desperation – softly, though, so that when she sings, "I would not let myself believe that you would stray," we hear all her disappointment and longing. Longing is a prominent theme on Ecstasy, both the romantic kind and the trickier longing for self-knowledge and cosmic awareness. "I believe this is heaven to no one else but me," she sings on "Elsewhere." "I'll defend it so long as I can be left here to linger in silence." On "Ice Cream," in contrast, she has nothing more profound to announce than "Your love is better than chocolate." Even when playful, though, McLachlan never resorts to coyness. At a time when more than a few hip women rockers do, McLachlan's purposefulness hardly seems fumbling at all. (RS 684) ELYSA GARDNER A somber, spooky record released at the start of McLachlan's rise to fame. This strong set of atmospheric, well-crafted songs was so far from what McLachlan's supposed contemporaries (Alanis Morissette, Sheryl Crow) were doing at the time that people could not help but pay attention. The intensity of "Possession" didn't hurt, either. |
