Debut

Its good...really good. It reminds me of either Alanis Morissette in jazz mode or Lisa Loeb. Her voice is the highlight of the CD, but it is well complemented by music behind.

If I have one complaint it is that the differences between the songs are pretty subtle and as a result, many sound VERY similar. Good background music, but you have to pay pretty close attention to the songs to divine their best features.

"Johnson City" is a prime example of the songs on this album with Lorson singing an aching melody in two-part harmony over a sedated mamboish rhythm that reeks of a melancholy memory, a song to slow dance close to. Equally smoky is "Crash", a smoldering song that evokes images of dimly lit nightclubs and those huge 40's microphones. "Only One", with it's infectious up-tempo melody and layered guitars is the only song that could fit on a Madder Rose album. My personal favorite is "On The Outside", a song of loss and alienation with an emotive violin line that permeates the song like a solitary tear moving down a beautiful face. The melody in this song, as in the others, seems intended to rend the heart of the listener. Overall, this album helps prove that Lorson is more than just a singer. The melodies are fresh and haunting and the entire "confessional song" feel of the album draws the listener into a secret confidence, an imaginary nightclub in the 40s where Mary is singing to you alone.

Whatever she lent her considerable efforts to in the past is, I'm sure, satisfying and rich to respective fans. I do not wish to damn with faint praise anybody's work. Nonetheless, these captivating and massaging melodies coupled with her strong, crystalline voice render me unwilling to hear her do another's creations. Revisiting this artist's previous efforts, now that I have experienced her emergence, would cause me only melancholy, much as a visit to a restaurant were the notable chef has departed for grander climes and the replacement serves only shadows of the former's artistry. Fortunately, in this case the progression is positive; the more we visit Saint Low the richer the servings will be.

Swinging from low and sweet to jazzy and hip, the selections fascinate with metaphor and partial illustration. In an age where "In your face" smackdown and gangsta rule, such allegory and abstraction are refreshing finds. One may make of the works what one wishes, discovering in the imagery either familiar chords to grasp or indications of experiences unfamilar but still attractive.

Far too deep and complex for play to the lemmings, Saint Low and their patroness Mary Larson warrant following and scrutiny. This is art.