Like Kate Bush or Nico, Unwoman (http://www.unwoman.com) bravely steps beyond the word of pop, or anything remotely close to rock, into an uncategorizable, adventurous vision that is nevertheless steeped in history. With its mix and match of classical instrumentation and modern-day electronics, Unwoman does not occuy a specific place or time.
Unwoman is not a band but a person, in this case Erica Mulkey. Enveloping her mostly slow, creepy songs with cello and piano, Mulkey has crafted an album of no-compromise integrity and commendable artistry. Without sounding too pretentious, this is Art. There will be people unable to listen to this, to appreciate the singular vision behind this challenging, spellbinding work. Yet, at the same time, these songs are melodic to the ears. Like foreign films with subtitles, you're just not used to it; however, once you develop the taste, there's no turning back.
|
"The Little Mermaid" and "Paresthesia" are the true definitions of Gothic. They are not some cliched Batcaver pieces with the usual death-disco synthesizers. "The Little Mermaid" floats upon a river of crestfallen piano, opening rather slowly until it picks up tempo, while "Paresthesia" has a funereal intro that evolves into the kind of fairy-tale nightmare music which Tim Burton and Danny Elfman would applause.
The second half of the LP is devoted to musical intrepretations of poems from Edna St. Vincent Millay, giving her words an operatic, theatrical feel that nevertheless still has the foreboding feeling of looming grey clouds.
|
