Americana folk singer blurs nostalgia and tragedy
Brandy Tackett
Issue date: 2/16/09 Section: Lifestyles
Where do we go when the fickle world has turned its back on us? Where do we go to feel safe, to feel loved again? We go home.
Everything about Alela Diane's To Be Still, from the finger-plucked foundation of guitar and bass to the singer's sad, smoky voice, is familiar.
It's just like a cabin home, with its well-worn wooden banisters and spacious back porch.
To Be Still is a house passed down for generations, a work rooted in the elusive mists of tradition.
It's a style Diane inherits from Nick Drake ("My Brambles"), Karen Dalton (the title track) and the stunning forests of her California home.
But it's not a retreat. While the basic instrumentation (guitar, violin, lap steel and some rare drums) is similar to that of other soft-spoken folksters, Diane looks further into history than most of her contemporaries.
"I can hear the elders whispering in words so sweet and low," she croons on the ambling, banjo-endowed "The Alder Trees," right before lifting her head in a chorus about "paths made of mud and snakeskin."
But the album's nostalgia flirts with tragedy, especially in the subtle harmonies that creep quietly into nearly every song.
Diane's lyrics paint the 25-year-old singer as a sort of country sage, a wise, sober soul who has seen sadness, loss and love in the nature around her.
These 11 songs are a lengthy journey and, at times, the fragile lines that separate them begin to blur.
The pastoral album, unfortunately, spreads itself thin, unwisely delegating the longer, jam-based songs to its second half.
But it's a minor complaint because To Be Still, Diane's second release, ultimately serves its purpose.
It's a contemplative, comfortable mood piece, and it feels like home.
Everything about Alela Diane's To Be Still, from the finger-plucked foundation of guitar and bass to the singer's sad, smoky voice, is familiar.
It's just like a cabin home, with its well-worn wooden banisters and spacious back porch.
To Be Still is a house passed down for generations, a work rooted in the elusive mists of tradition.
It's a style Diane inherits from Nick Drake ("My Brambles"), Karen Dalton (the title track) and the stunning forests of her California home.
But it's not a retreat. While the basic instrumentation (guitar, violin, lap steel and some rare drums) is similar to that of other soft-spoken folksters, Diane looks further into history than most of her contemporaries.
"I can hear the elders whispering in words so sweet and low," she croons on the ambling, banjo-endowed "The Alder Trees," right before lifting her head in a chorus about "paths made of mud and snakeskin."
But the album's nostalgia flirts with tragedy, especially in the subtle harmonies that creep quietly into nearly every song.
Diane's lyrics paint the 25-year-old singer as a sort of country sage, a wise, sober soul who has seen sadness, loss and love in the nature around her.
These 11 songs are a lengthy journey and, at times, the fragile lines that separate them begin to blur.
The pastoral album, unfortunately, spreads itself thin, unwisely delegating the longer, jam-based songs to its second half.
But it's a minor complaint because To Be Still, Diane's second release, ultimately serves its purpose.
It's a contemplative, comfortable mood piece, and it feels like home.
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