A smooth susurrus of breath cedes to the sound of fingers sliding over nylon guitar strings on “Holy Equation,” the opening monitor of Anna Tivel’s Animal Poem. “I’m waking up early, I’m bussing the tables/This complete factor can be a hopeless equation,” she sings earlier than a mournful saxophone shimmers atop the formica. On the people singer’s seventh studio album, her songs are extra indictment than invitation: Witness the world we’ve made, and let your revulsion transfer you.
Whereas the Portland songwriter’s earlier data have constantly chronicled the downtrodden, Animal Poem brings sharper enamel to the trouble, delivering searing condemnations of indignities which have develop into so frequent as to really feel pedestrian. The title monitor, a defeated snare-drum shuffle, describes “characters in fixed ache/Reaching for a option to style some magnificence,” from a panhandling mom with a cardboard signal to a magpie in search of a diamond within the dying grass.
Tivel is at her greatest when the visions arrive complete and detailed, as tactile and searing because the hood of a scorching automotive. “Hough Ave, 1966,” a retelling of Cleveland’s Hough Uprisings is especially heartbreaking on this sense, like a Twenty first-century homicide ballad. “The aircraft touched down, Cleveland, Ohio,” she sings like somebody staring right into a whiskey glass. “I raised my collar to the chilly/On the cab journey dwelling, that music was enjoying/‘Don’t let me be misunderstood.’” She describes somebody “raised on soul and operating hungry,” whose seek for love in “rock’n’roll or god and nation” ends with them dwelling in a automotive, then bleeding out on a metropolis nook. “There’s a purpose on your loss of life now,” she guarantees over and over, and possibly it’s the reiteration that makes this declare appear determined, like she needs, impossibly, that it might soften the violence.
There’s hope right here, albeit measured. “White Goose” pads tentatively by way of its opening bars earlier than a flip in the direction of the jazzy. When Tivel’s not chronicling mammalian despair, she’s a wizard on par with The Climate Station at turning nature into a personality unto itself. “A inexperienced so vibrant and tender, I received excessive sufficient to let it blow my thoughts,” she sings. Remembering a childhood goose hunt, “crimson rose blooming throughout the empty wildness he fell out of,” she lies down within the discipline “to really feel one thing/Small and misplaced and filled with thanks.” The lyrics are so poetic they may evoke marvel in complete silence, however the instrumentation is simply as pristine: Sam Weber’s rubber-bridge guitar bounces jubilantly between Tivel’s voice and the parade of ecological marvels she describes, whereas Galen Clark’s piano apes the burbling brook, the polyrhythms of birdsong or rustling grass.
