This is an album for pensive car rides and weighty conversations with new friends, for bringing you to a world outside your work desk where monkeys are afraid of spelunking while discussing scraps of sassafras. Joanna’s new album is unusual in structure – spanning the length of 55 minutes with only five songs, it is not meant for casual listening sessions. Either way, the most important message here is what the artist has managed to create, and just how beautiful and intoxicating it truly is. Will this make an impact? Will you take away from this review on any level what I have taken away from the album itself? Perhaps. I am in the position to get to know an album on a close and personal basis, to feel it and touch it, and then wax poetic about it to those who happen to read it.
In this current situation, as I sit here and gear up to write about Joanna’s latest creation, Ys, I can’t help but further realize the wonderful position that I am in, what an amazing opportunity it is to be able to write about such a fantastic album, and how much fun this has been thus far.
To secure this writing gig here at Treble, I wrote a review of Joanna Newsom’s glorious debut, 2004’s The Milk-Eyed Mender, which subsequently dazzled our editor (I exaggerate, surely) and introduced me to the gratification that comes with writing about music.
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