Jana Hunter is apparently the mysterious "Power Woman," that elusive
feminine force that guides Devendra Banhart and Andy Cabic's new Gnomonsong label. She is also the first artist to record on Gnomonsong, bringing together 10 years worth of home-recorded tracks in a soulful, gorgeous and
occasionally disturbing debut full-length.
Vocally, Hunter sounds very much like Karen Dalton, one of Banhart's three
early inspirations (the others being Vashti Bunyan and Judy Henske). This
is to say, she has a velvety tone with a low range that extends beyond most
women's, combined with an unexpectedly childlike higher register. She
also sings with an unforced genuineness that warms and deepens every
track. Her voice, poised as Banhart's often is between blues and folk,
gives a burnished glow to songs that range from comfortingly traditional to
wildly original. Through the murk and echo of home recording, she sounds
on "All the Best Wishes" like a supernatural creature, haunting and lovely
and ineffable. Unaccompanied by instruments, she sings harmonies and
descants with herself here, the melodic line blending with slow-changing
sung chords and high-noted counterpoints. It is an unearthly and
mysterious way into a very spiritual album, setting the tone for the rest
of the tracks.
With "The New Sane Scramble," we pick up Hunter's eccentric guitar playing,
a rhythmic but unusual repetitive pattern that adds tension to her
singsong vocals. There's also a trace of the violin that Hunter's been
playing since age 9, twisted into a wild skirls of accompaniment. Yet
though the track is ornamented with instruments, it feels bare and
essential, with only the bones showing through. The same might be said for
"Christmas," all jazz-inflected upright bass and blues vocals. Hunter's
voice tracks the bass line, pausing in the same places and creating dark
caverns for meditation. The handclaps of "Laughing and Crying" and the
swooning strings of "Farm, Ca." seem like a relief after all this
intensity, yet even these fluid offerings are shadowed with strong, dark
emotions. The schoolyard chant of "Laughing and Crying" hides a ferocious
worldview, limned with words like "Laughing and crying/ Are the same
thing/ Tearing at something/ With claws you can't see." Similarly, the sweet
country violin of "Farm, Ca." (which first appeared on the "New Folk" compilation, The
Golden Apples of the Sun, that Banhart put together for Arthur magazine
last year) wraps around unfathomable sadness, a melancholy that goes beyond words
and seeps through your skin. Only the
final cut, the odd and endearing "K," seems unconflictedly joyful, with its
canned drum-machine beat and electro keyboard line.
Blank Unstaring Heirs of Doom is intense, honest and
individual. It's the kind of music that is often made in isolation, by
distinctive and talented individuals with no one telling them what to
do. Paradoxically, it's just this sort of music that draws people
together, as we discover that what's unique about one artist is actually a
little piece of us all. Jana Hunter may be Power Woman, or she may not,
but there's no denying she has made an extremely powerful album here.
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