 Alison Krauss I connect with this album so totally that I actually get embarrassed when I listen to it, especially at work, because I fear that if someone finds out I'm listening to it, it will be like I'm being caught reading a self-help book (Conquering Chronic Shit-Eating or some such overly-revealing title). Most likely no one would think anything of it beyond "Alison Krauss? Hm, that's kind of easy listening, isn't it?" Sure, it's extraordinarily pretty music, very soothing, very VH1 in many respects. But more than that, it's possibly the most dead-on breakup album I've ever heard, each song capturing the dull ache, frustration, resignation, and deep sadness of having someone leave and being left to try and put the shards of your miserable life back together. Sure, sure, something like Disintegration by The Cure might be more dramatic, and something like Blue by Joni Mitchell might be more artistic, but this CD feels like a breakup. Chalk it up to the inherent loneliness of bluegrass itself, famously sad and beautiful music, and which Alison Krauss does better than anyone else, though not so traditionally. Forget About It is much more of a pop album than a bluegrass album per se, but who cares what it is, it validates my sadness and helps me move on, like that book, what was it called? Oh, yes, Conquering Chronic Shit-Eating. Sorry, that title was too good not to use twice. At any rate, this is not a Union Station album (that is, it's not purist), but neither is it a sellout attempt at pop superstardom. I think Alison Krauss herself is too musically pure to do anything like that – don't look for a Mutt Lange-produced Alison Krauss album, in other words (though she'd probably love that, actually). The pop production on this disc really serves the songs. The sound is warm and spacious, illuminating the intimacy of the narrative – and I don't say narrative to be overly pretentious, but really the album has a progression to it that anyone who's endured a huge-ass breakup will immediately recognize and feel to the core. It's ultimately kind of a hopeful record, though the pain in Krauss's voice (and in the lyrics) truly hurts. "Where have you been, my long lost friend/It's good to see you again/Come and sit for awhile/I've missed your smile/Today the past is goodbye," she sings in the opening cut, "Stay." This is a song of reconnection after a long absence, and the climax is heartbreaking: "There is a way to make you stay/Darling, don't turn away/Don't doubt your heart and keep us apart/I'm right where you are/Stay." Of course it doesn't happen like that in real life – the person leaves, won't return your 3am drunken phone calls, and that tends to be that. But it's a nice fantasy to entertain while you're downing several more alcoholic beverages to blot out the pain. "Forget About It" gets into the bitterness aspect: "Forget about those starlit nights/Laying by the fireside holding me tight/I can't remember when I felt so right." When the cymbal crash introduces the second chorus (that's at 2:56 into the song, for those following along at home) I about want to throw myself off a bridge. When an album hooks me that intensely track 2, it's bound to be a keeper. She could spend the rest of the album making fart noises and laughing, and I would probably still call it a classic. But the rest of the album is virtually flawless, crystalline and just amazing. A cover of Todd Rundgren's "It Wouldn't Have Made Any Difference" is appropriately sad and resigned, and the lyrics of "Maybe" just come out to choke your rejected throat: "Maybe it's for the best/I can live alone, I guess." Then the harmonies kick in and finish the job. Oof, painful pain, hurts. "Are you wshing you never met me?" she sings on "Empty Hearts." Or: "I'm living proof of the damage heartbreak does/I'm just a whisper of smoke/I'm all that's left of two hearts on fire that once burned out of control/You took my body and soul" ("Ghost in This House"). Ah, sweet pain. Things start turning a corner around track 8 ("It Don't Matter Now"), which begins to get away from the longing and on toward letting go. "Could You Lie" picks up a bit from the slow-to-midtempo mood, and the closer, "Dreaming My Dreams With You" is a porch-swingin' ballad that turns to the future ("Someday I'll get over you/Someday I'll see it all through/But I'll always miss dreaming my dreams with you"). It's an honest resolution to the record, and a welcome bit of optimism to those who related to every previous word Krauss has sung during the course of a truly therapeutic album. This really is a masterpiece. Not totally perfect – "Never Got Off the Ground" is a little hokey, although it does bolster the flight motif that runs through most of the songs, and "That Kind of Love" is comparatively unmemorable. The playing is fantastic throughout (notably Jerry Douglas on dobro and lap steel) and Krauss's voice is beautiful as always. Whoever broke her heart, I don't know – but if everyone made albums like this out of painful breakups we'd have enough great albums to stock a big ol' self-help shelf with.
Review by Bryna Besti |