I have been sort of marginally aware of Sarah McLachlan for several years, ever since my dad bought me a Lilith Fair compilation CD which included one of her songs. I listened to the two-disc record several times without taking much notice of her contribution--"Building a Mystery" which also serves as the opening track of Surfacing. It wasn't until I revisited the compilation some months later that the song began to stand out to me--not only was McLachlan's voice impressive in range and style, but the lyrics were a well wrought puzzle of some adult feeling I could only just grasp. Over the next few years, I heard some of McLachlan's songs on the radio and was impressed with each of them. They seemed to symbolize some kind of stage of womanhood--individual and personal yet universal at the same time. It was not long before I was tracking down her songs online and watching the videos, sometimes several times, just so I could hear the entire song. Since I started my account on Pandora this year, I have heard many of her songs on my stations--she seems to have been an influence implicit or otherwise on nearly all of my wide-ranging favorite artists. While browsing through my library's limited selection of CDs last night, I found a copy--two actually--of Surfacing and immediately added it to my pile. I could barely contain my excitement to get home and start listening.
Surfacing is not exactly a new listening experience for me, since, with the help of Pandora and Yahoo! Music, I have already heard at least three-quarters of the songs on it. It is not hard for me to decipher why the remaining songs are not as widely available on the internet nor as wildly popular--moving in reverse order, Last Dance is a simplistic instrumental album-ender, Full of Grace a mere reworking of the feel and theme of the popular Angel, and Black and White and Witness are both edgy. These last two songs are stellar examples of songs that address those lost, confused, feelings that haunt each of us, and they are as inherently accessible as most of McLachlan's music. But their images are darker, their message less redemptive. They see pain as a fascinating, fulfilling end in itself, rather than a place to be escaped from. In this they are thought-provoking, refreshing, and perhaps a little too scarily revealing to penetrate a wider audience. It's too bad, because although the rest of the record is fine in itself, it does not present a particularly revolutionary or interesting perspective.
The only fault I can find with Sarah McLachlan's music is that it is faultless. Her voice is too perfect, her music is too orchestrated, there is no room for error. About this perfection I have mixed feelings. It makes for easy listening, to be certain--almost too easy, as the lyrics slide by in another dose of bittersweetness. I suppose that is where the paradox comes in. Hidden behind these immaculate aesthetics, the lyrics feel alienated, since they come from such a place of suffering and pain. There is no redemption in the story McLachlan weaves, only the hope of it, and very seldom the promise. But her sound is soaring enough to be thoroughly redemptive.
Perhaps, then, there's no contradiction after all. McLachlan's music, self-contained as it is, is self correcting. There is nothing to hold it back from being lovely and intoxicating--except perhaps its own reservedness.
Surfacing is not exactly a new listening experience for me, since, with the help of Pandora and Yahoo! Music, I have already heard at least three-quarters of the songs on it. It is not hard for me to decipher why the remaining songs are not as widely available on the internet nor as wildly popular--moving in reverse order, Last Dance is a simplistic instrumental album-ender, Full of Grace a mere reworking of the feel and theme of the popular Angel, and Black and White and Witness are both edgy. These last two songs are stellar examples of songs that address those lost, confused, feelings that haunt each of us, and they are as inherently accessible as most of McLachlan's music. But their images are darker, their message less redemptive. They see pain as a fascinating, fulfilling end in itself, rather than a place to be escaped from. In this they are thought-provoking, refreshing, and perhaps a little too scarily revealing to penetrate a wider audience. It's too bad, because although the rest of the record is fine in itself, it does not present a particularly revolutionary or interesting perspective.
The only fault I can find with Sarah McLachlan's music is that it is faultless. Her voice is too perfect, her music is too orchestrated, there is no room for error. About this perfection I have mixed feelings. It makes for easy listening, to be certain--almost too easy, as the lyrics slide by in another dose of bittersweetness. I suppose that is where the paradox comes in. Hidden behind these immaculate aesthetics, the lyrics feel alienated, since they come from such a place of suffering and pain. There is no redemption in the story McLachlan weaves, only the hope of it, and very seldom the promise. But her sound is soaring enough to be thoroughly redemptive.
Perhaps, then, there's no contradiction after all. McLachlan's music, self-contained as it is, is self correcting. There is nothing to hold it back from being lovely and intoxicating--except perhaps its own reservedness.
I love Sarah McLachlan...but like you said, it is like her music is too perfect. If you haven't already, you should listen to Fallen. It's one of my favorites.
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