As a youngster I was a LEGO fanatic. Nary a moment went by when I wasn’t constructing a cowboy fort or an underwater sea lab out of those miniscule building blocks. As time went on, however, I learned that my passion for LEGOs—and many other childhood pastimes—had waned. I had simply outgrown them. The same phenomenon can and does happen with musical artists and their respective genres. After a while, an artist will grow weary of the limitations imposed by their drama, opting to either break free or call it quits. Joanna Newsom, associated with the “freak-folk” movement ever since she went solo, has luckily chosen the high road. With Ys, her latest effort, she disregards the constrictions of “freak-folk” to the point of rendering the term pointless. Her performance at the Black Cat this Friday will likely reinforce this.
In my mind, “freak-folk” will be associated with the earliest recordings of the genre’s supposed father, Devendra Banhart. His debut, Oh Me Oh My…, consisted of primitive guitar picking and Devendra’s enigmatic, bewitched yelps and growls—all recorded on a cheap four-track tape. Newsom’s debut, The Milk-Eyed Mender, while not as raw as Banhart’s, still had that homemade feel to it. The majority of that album was comprised of simple folk songs, with her gentle harp playing being the main complement to her lyrics.
But like a parent whose child has graduated from LEGO-land and moved on to the world of Playstation®, Newsom’s fans must recognize one thing: their little Joanna has grown up. With Ys we find her wandering, harp in hand, through a world of sweeping string sections and regal horn arrangements. If she was a peasant troubadour in Mender, she is now the unquestionable queen, of what strange village I am not sure.
Newsom’s newfound independence from the “freak-folk” movement has been accompanied by an embrace of her womanhood. In “Only Skin” she sings, “and knowing how the commonfolk condemn what it is I do, to you, to keep you warm: Being a woman. Being a woman.”
The music of Ys seems timeless, though it’s possible that, like children, Newsom’s fans will outgrow it. Eventually, her music will become a forgotten part of history. Still, we are reassured that not everyone will forget: “I promised you I’d set them to verse, so I’d always remember.”
