 Amy Millan has an evocative whisper of a voice, but it is best served when bolstered by collaborators. In Stars she plays the tart, girlish counterpoint to Torquil Campbell's Morrissey-loving drama queen, grounding his theatrical tenor in realism on their bubbly, synthesizer-kissed pop. And in Broken Social Scene she is part of the crowd, one of a trio of shivery voiced women who add emotional hooks to the collective's often cerebral, atmospheric sound. On her own, however, she lacks heft. On her second woodsy solo album she admits as much by loading the collection with covers-- four of the 11 tracks are remakes on this 31-minute record. Which is a shame because, even though the album is slight, it is quite pretty, thanks to its lush, intimate production.
Despite the padding. Millan's originals are the best parts of Masters of the Burial. "Low Sail" flickers like a campfire with its warm strings and understated pedal steel melting under the repeated, lissome-fingered acoustic guitar arpeggio. "Lost Compass", over too soon at less than two-minutes-long, turns a smoky ode to feverish sexual desire into a spare, acoustic waltz. And "Day to Day" distinguishes itself as a practically a cappella endeavor. With just some tinny percussion-- which sounds partly like a sampled live drumline and partly like a fuzzy programmed drum machine-- to bolster her own feathery tones, the emphasis is placed squarely on Millan's best musical feature: her honeyed-twilight voice. On her last solo outing, 2006's Honey From the Tombs, Millan presented herself as a cowgirl-chanteuse, drowning her sorrows in whiskey and Emmylou Harris records. But though it is torchy and folksy, this collection mostly eschews that vibe-- the most notable exception being album closer "Bound", which dosados with fiddle flourishes, pedal steel, and the Canadian singer's valiant attempt at Southern twang as she sings lines about "the fussin', the fightin', the boozin', [and] the cryin'"...full text |
| Whether mourning lost loves with Stars or on her own, this Canadian songstress consistently stares in one direction: backward. So, while her 2006 solo debut peppered its country-ish crooning with the swooning rock of her friends in Broken Social Scene, this follow-up burrows back to a pre-indie rock period. But, save for a few inspired touches, like the Burt Bacharach-indebted ’60s-pop horns floating through opener “Bruised Ghosts,” Masters of the Burial lacks the character to be more than the sum of its lovely parts: fiddles, regret, and a pretty voice....full text |
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