It is difficult to write a review, in the conventional sense of the word, of Joanna Newsom’s sophomore release, Ys, because it’s unlike any other record you’ll hear this year, this decade, or perhaps even your life. At least until Ms. Newsom releases her third album, that is.
Newsom’s first album, The Milk-Eyed Mender, was an alienating record. Even if her harp-dominated compositions were wholly listenable, her voice, best described as a grating combination of a squealing infant pig and Cyndi Lauper, drove many listeners away. On Ys, collaborator Van Dyke Parks of Beach Boys lyrical fame tempers Newsom’s voice to great effect, revealing its shrouded beauty.
The record showcases five lengthy compositions that transition from one movement to another with amazing fluidity. Its lyrics, drenched in medieval imagery, are set to music primarily reliant on orchestral crescendos accompanied by Newsom’s soothing harp. The entire listening experience defies logic; this bizarre masterpiece has few, if any contemporaries.
In the past, Newsom’s music drew comparisons to Kate Bush, Tori Amos and Fiona Apple. From the opening verse of “Emily,” it’s clear that she is now so far beyond those three in sheer creativity and eccentricity that they shouldn’t even be mentioned in the same sentence.
As epic poetry sung to a backdrop of a complex, layered orchestra, Ys is incredibly overwhelming. In fact, its relative inaccessibility may be its only flaw. Thankfully, the pieces become friendlier after repeated listens, each revealing a personality of its own.
I would go further into the many nuances of the record if I thought it possible to adequately describe any of them. I don’t think it is. It must be heard to be understood. I, for one, had never before heard anything like this in my life. But I can safely say that Ys is, and will almost certainly finish the year as, the best record of 2006.
