Since Joanna Newsom
released her debut album The Milk-Eyed Mender in the spring of 2004, she
has become a highly divisive figure in popular music. Just as Newsom began to
find a following of devoted fans appreciative of her unique artistic
contributions, she simultaneously amassed a legion of detractors eager to
dismiss her because of what they perceived as indulgent eccentricities. One
bright Sunday morning in the fall of 2004, a couple of friends played The
Milk-Eyed Mender for me for the first time over brunch at their apartment.
The allure and warmth of these songs have merged with the rest of my memories
of that pleasant autumn morning. This introduction to Joanna Newsom’s music
sheltered me from the debate over her significance in contemporary music and
allowed me to behold the lyrical depth, musical complexity, and singular appeal
of this extraordinary album.
The idea that anyone has
established a critically acclaimed career in modern indie rock as a highly
literate, classically trained harpist still blows my mind and I’ve been
watching her career for over a decade. One thing most of Newsom’s critics miss
is her remarkable sense of humor, which runs through her entire catalog and
figures prominently in the best songs on The Milk-Eyed Mender. “Bridges
and Balloons” opens Newsom’s debut album with two lines on the harp gently
fading in for twenty seconds before she begins to share a highly detailed
account of an incredible journey. Upon closing the narrative, Newsom allows the
two lines of the harp to dance together hypnotically for over a minute before
the songs fades out like it faded in. A couple songs later, “The Book of
Right-on” exhibits Newsom’s flair for absurd humor against a showcase of her
musical prowess while she interlaces a prominent bassline with highly rhythmic
high end figures on the harp. The first time I heard the lyric, “I killed my
dinner with karate,” I was convinced that I’d misheard it, but I came to better
understand the scope of her humor. Oddly enough, The Roots sampled this song’s
chorus and bassline to create the surprisingly successful throwback jam, “Right
On” on their 2010 album, How I Got Over. As I became more familiar with The
Milk-Eyed Mender, I liked many of the songs, but “Inflammatory Writ” was
the first one I loved. Upon my first close listen, I thought I was hearing a
talent show performance by a secret love child of Bob Dylan and Dolly Parton.
Whirling by in just under three minutes and guided by the stiffly paced ramble
of piano accompaniment, Newsom delivers an eviscerating satire of songwriters’
self-absorption. By mocking herself, her peers, and her role models with such
zeal and style, Newsom acknowledges to her audience that she isn’t taking
herself too seriously.
Since The Milk-Eyed
Mender, Newsom has released three albums and each one has deepened her
artistic vision, heightened the quality of her storytelling, and expanded her
musical palette. In the fall of 2007, I saw Newsom perform with the Atlanta
Symphony Orchestra in support of Ys, her ambitious breakthrough
sophomore album. Just a few months ago, I attended her show at the Boulder
Theater on the tour for her most recent album, Divers. Both times,
Newsom highlighted her newest material, but revisited several songs from her
first album. I was already familiar with these songs, but watching them unfold
first hand instilled within me a sense of awe, admiration, and wonder. In fewer
than fifteen years, Newsom has built an impressive, innovative, and
unprecedented career in popular music and it all started with The Milk-Eyed
Mender.
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John Parsell
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