JOANNA NEWSOM - Ys

Joanna Newsom. Twenty-four years old, Californian without seeming so in the slightest.

Harpist, one third woman, one third elf, one third child. A face and expressions worthy of an actress, the impression of living in a world all her own.

An album, "The Milk-Eyed Mender", delightful, surprising, acclaimed. Twelve vignettes, tender and crackly, twelve fables suspended between traditional folk and indie singer-songwriter territory (I'll refer you to the OndaRock review for the due in-depth analysis).

The adjective most often applied to her is childish. She doesn't appreciate it, but it hits the mark.

Two years to turn a world upside down.

The accidental singer looks further ahead, beyond what was already a surprise in itself.

She prepares five compositions, ranging from seven to sixteen minutes. She digs even deeper into her roots, starting with the artwork, in which she becomes a medieval beauty, loose wavy blonde hair, a crown of flowers, a window looking out on the river and the mountains, a red curtain.

"Ys", the title of this second work, has a long gestation. Live rehearsals, string arrangements, illustrious collaborations.

The first stage of the work is the writing, for voice and harp, and the first big name mentioned is that of Steve Albini.

The second was the orchestration (for which thirty musicians would be used), entrusted to the immense Van Dyke Parks, to whom Newsom presented her directives and ideas, especially regarding the mood.

Finally, the third, after recording, was the mixing, handled by Jim O'Rourke.

It's exactly at this point that marketing and ambition merge. Names start to leak, the chatter begins: the result is that "Ys", due out in November, becomes available online as early as September.

The story isn't all that different from that of Arctic Monkeys; in fact, "Ys" is to indie-indie what "Whatever..." was to indie-mainstream. And leaking online well in advance helps Newsom a great deal, since her record is by no means an easy listen.

It's the final push. The sacred helpers, the sacred specialist magazines, the voice, sacred for its distinctiveness, the compositions, sacred for their length and difficulty.

Intellectual infatuation that, in the end, isn't so different from naive youthful infatuation.

The classic album that you can't speak ill of — on the contrary, you're expected to praise it.

I approached "Ys" with mixed feelings: the certainty of a talent, a faint whiff of a con, the fear that ambition might screw up its qualities, the hope that aiming high would yield a masterpiece.

What greets me is the imaginative story of "Emily", which, in hindsight, also represents the stylistic signature of the whole record. It's not a song so much as a long, musically set narrative, steeped in poetry (pay attention to the lyrics). There's very little rock here, and a lot of folk: but the bulk of it is personality. The harp accompanies, acting as a guitar, the voice, which is the true protagonist, alongside the melodies.

Newsom has trimmed away the rough edges that, while still a virtue, marked her debut. The singing is more measured, centered and powerful: tailored to the scope of "Ys". What she's lost in liveliness, she's gained in focus.

Hers is a divine gift, something truly unique. The name that comes to mind is Bjork, but the comparison only holds halfway: where the Icelandic singer offers an angelic quality, the young Californian counters with a far more human timbre, and precisely for that reason, a rarer one.

Melodically, what strikes is the grace of the lines, which have severed ties with contemporary reference points, delving into more distant yet less explored landscapes, as Newsom carves out her own personal space, shunning familiar — or at least comfortable — solutions, managing to sound new even while drawing on the ancient.

The other distinctive element is the strings, psychedelic and estranging, often simply layered over the song's development, soaring above it or cutting into it, sometimes deeply, with the intent of conveying an additional plane, a hallucinatory effect (hallucinatory effect, as Newsom herself literally puts it).

The result, already gorgeous in itself, is then elevated by the ending, with the voice swelling and the track speeding up, delivering with real feeling what could be taken for a chorus; before finally dying away in the union of harp and orchestra.

The second track, "Monkey & Bear", the story of an impossible love, instead stages a more traditional representation, if not in structure, which remains unique (albeit more linear than in the other pieces), certainly in the melody and in the strongly classical cut of the strings; yet it's caught off guard by a thrilling ending.

The third track, "Sawdust & Diamonds", offers another variation on the formula, stripping away the orchestra and relying on a biting harp plucking, like a piano sonata, paired with a sweet, intense delivery, stirred by the melody's emotional openings. These are the record's two "lesser" tracks, even though, especially the latter, they operate on a very high level.

On the other hand, "Only Skin" is the peak of the collection. The elements of "Emily" are all present, and taken to extremes, across sixteen-plus minutes of melodies chasing one another, sketching out a wonderful structure in motion that flows smoothly thanks to the interplay of slowing down and starting back up, driven by the delightful main melodic line, underscored, among other things, by accordion and horns (the dense sound, though, doesn't really let you appreciate each individual contribution so much as the overall design). The high point here too is the final turn, when, after a long walk over the jagged peaks of the violins, Newsom starts to squeal out the main theme, sung in a burst of grandeur as a duet with Bill Callahan (with whom she'll be on tour in a few days), his baritone handing over the reins to her vocal climbs, with banjo notes and dry percussion filling out the background.

Closing the record, without pal­ing in comparison at all (quite the opposite), is "Cosmia", the most "song-like" of the five: graceful arpeggios and strings swollen with emotion, a stunning folkloric instrumental jolt halfway through, an open, explicit melody like never before ("and I miss your precious heart"), pushed to its most expressive peak right in the final minute.

What lingers is a bittersweet taste, heavy with emotion, along with the awareness of having witnessed a small work of art.

Indeed, because defying all the initial misgivings, that is exactly what "Ys" is. Despite a certain structural heaviness, whether due to its distance from familiar conventions or its choice to use strings (and not only strings) in often unsettling ways, what you find here is precisely a small work of art. One that perhaps lacks the accessibility, and the sheer expressive force, to be declared a masterpiece outright, but that doesn't leave you missing the old direction for even a second, offering instead the now-certain confirmation of a curious and brilliant artist.

A great record, a one-of-a-kind record, without question among the best of the year.

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01/11/2006