Artist: Linda Marie Smith
Link:
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Linda-Marie-Smith-Band/330763523631
Linda Marie Smith's MEARRA is a concept
album based on the legend of the selkie. Selkies are mythological
creatures found in Faroese, Icelandic, Irish, and Scottish folklore.
As the legend teaches, selkies live as seals in the sea, but shed
their skin to become human. This, apparently akin to swan maidens
that shape-shift between human and swan forms.
And since selkies make contact with
humans for only a short time before returning to their sea homes, the
tales invariably end up as romantic tragedies. So too with Smith's
MEARRA: Its story arc moves from love to transformation to loss. But
whether or not the lore itself fascinates you, you'll no doubt be
swept up by the romance (until you're heartbroken by the tragedy).
Since we've all seen human romances peter out less-than-epically,
there's something to be said for a love that has to end before it
dies.
MEARRA is thoughtful song-craft lushly
orchestrated by studio-caliber musicians and expertly produced by
Rich Rankin; and it's all carried by Smith's clear and rich and
compellingly emotive vocal. For me, the album's standout track is
"Seals of Silver and Gold." The song is built, musically,
on piano and, lyrically, on a litany of romantic depictions of seals,
which unfold as a series of questions with a vocal refrain supplying
the answer. As in: "What haunts the shore caves all these years?
What waits by moonlight yet sings without fear? Seals of silver and
gold." The question-answer device is a winning one, made all the
more appealing by Smith's lovingly tender voice, cradled by beatific
acoustics -- guitar, winds and strings. These mood-defining elements
create a perfect moon-lit night for us to be at-peace in.
The effect is not lost on the track
that follows, "Surrender to the Sea," which opens with
Smith's lone piano that takes its time, haunting the landscape. It
moves us to melancholy, until our attention is diverted to more
gorgeous music in the distance (hurdy gurdy). An electric guitar cuts
in, and snaps us to attention (before sliding away along the
fretboard). Then the singing: "I hear them calling / Calling me
home." It is the selkie, narrating the first-"person"
experience of being drawn back to the sea. For once, I understand.
And only Smith's MEARRA could have brought me here.
*** The author of this review,
Gregory Carter, plays the acchan chenda for the following band:
http://youtu.be/tMS73-1kCr8
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