Songs

This is a new direction for Gerry Hemingway, at least on disc. Those familiar with his recorded output might view this album as a move into the commercial market, with its folk and pop references, and its vocals that remind the listener right away of Joni Mitchell. It is a flawed album, to be sure, somewhat unfocused, not sure of where it is going. The talents of musicians of the caliber of John Butcher, Ellery Eskelin, Thomas Lehn, and Herb Robertson are largely wasted, and while trombonist Wolter Wierbos is magnificent on the several tracks on which he plays, some of his solos were recorded over “sequenced sketches…as a practical choice.” While the trombonist is in peak form, the elements that constitute the give and take of improvisational creativity are necessarily missing. Although Hemingway composed and arranged all the pieces and also wrote all the lyrics, the voice of Lisa Sokolov is an overriding presence, as she is heard on just about every piece. Hers is an acquired taste, somewhat husky but nonetheless malleable. Hemingway’s lyrics are a pleasant surprise: none of the syrupy cliché-ridden claptrap that infuses so much of pop. Instead, his words are thoughtful, even poetic: “I lay for years now in a heap/My organs strewn from far to deep/The Loins, they spawn a consciousness/Codes of anger that will not rest.” Ultimately, the recording falls through the cracks, independent, genre-free, and quirky. Just don’t expect much great freestyle Robertson, Eskelin, Butcher, or even Hemingway. – Steve Loewy