Ink Music Review: Sara Swenson
By Derek Donovan {Special to Ink}
Can acoustic singer-songwriters really have much more to say at this point? Isn’t the music all just petty, if pretty, slices of life set to arrangements that have been done a million times before?
Only if you’re listening to the bad stuff. The good, like local songstress Sara Swenson’s self-titled debut, trades the pomp and gloss of the hit parade for a focus on melody, lyrics and, most of all, a personal connection with the listener.
Swenson’s album offers nine unaffecting tunes of sweet, folk-tinged intimacy. It’s a strong effort with minimal ornamentation and zero affectation.
According to the liner notes (on yet another spanky Hammerpress cardboard package), Swenson recorded the songs “really quickly,” in about 15½ hours. Of course, quick turnaround in the studio used to be the norm. Rock and country’s foundation happened live in the studio. Jerry Lee, Patsy, even The Beatles laid down their classic tracks in real time, one time through with everyone playing and singing together.
So there are some imperfections. If this were a Hollywood record, the suits would demand a slight time correction to a strum here, or an Auto-Tune tweak to a vocal there. But that kind of digital perfectionism would serve no meaningful purpose in a coffeehouse confessional.
Swenson’s voice is effortless and direct, with a bit of Sarah McLachlan’s breathy quality. Producer Don Chaffer’s embellishments of pump organ, piano and various tinkly percussion are tasteful throughout, always adding texture without calling attention to themselves. Again, the restraint focuses attention where it belongs: on the song and vocals.
Several individual tracks stand out, including the wonderfully Dylanesque narrative of “Jimmy Valentine” and the appropriately meandering “Wanderin’.”
The almost-sloppy mandolin of “Aftermath” is affecting, and a funny, craggy storytelling appearance from Swenson’s grandpa on “My Little Girl” closes the album out sweetly.
Heavy-metal thunder might get the blood and adrenaline pumping, but that’s not really emotion. Records like Swenson’s connect with the heart before the lungs.
Link to original article in Ink