Sarabeth Tucek

We Say...

Review by Chris Roberts

Miami-born, New York-raised Sarabeth Tucek may at first glance seem “just” another Dylan-doting folk-rock chanteuse, her soft vocal decorating pleasant, laid-back guitar music. Yet on closer inspection, there are twists and furrows here which reveal her unique background. Having sung with Smog and Brian Jonestown Massacre, she’s happy to let a darker, indie haze creep into her ballads and color them with ambivalence. It’s clear that, like Mazzy Star or Elliott Smith, Tucek is as influenced by the Velvet Underground as she is by '60s sweetness and light. Producers Ethan Johns (Ray Lamontagne, Ryan Adams, Kings of Leon) and Luther Russell (Richmond Fontaine) seem equally keen to steer this to a listenable — yet not lightweight — place. The ambition reaches full fruition on beautifully arranged, string-sodden closer “Home," which could almost be Karen Carpenter fronting Neil Young’s Crazy Horse.

The bittersweet sighs of “Something for You” and the psalm-like “Stillborn” lead us in, eschewing any attention-seeking flash and oozing understated sincerity. Tucek rarely projects, preferring to mutter, but her voice revels in that rare ability to lure us in, making us curious to hear what’s stewing amid those brooding, pained emotions. “Ambulance” is as sparse yet complex as prime Tom Waits. If “Come Back Balloon” does teeter close to exposing her twee side, there’s a rockier edge to both “Nobody Cares” (close-harmony Byrds pop with just a whisper of My Bloody Valentine’s focused mania) and “Blowing Kisses” (like Cowboy Junkies riding through a ghost town, brittle and bruised) that keeps the warmth cool. “Wound you up to see you spin/ Rock and roll has done you in," she intones on the latter. “It gives and gives then takes it all/ Blowing kisses as you fall.”

It’s this wry world-weariness, filtered through a melancholy shrug and smile, that separates Tucek from so many run-of-the-mill female singer-songwriters with a passion for their parents’ record collections. This album grows on you until you’re faintly, gently smitten.