Starr brings nothing but heartbreak on her new release
Published March 14, 2006
Music is a form of expression, an outlet for an artist to represent what lies within and to share it with the world. Heartbreak and suffering in the name of love, some of the more common themes associated with that medium of expression, are made all the more potent when given musical direction.
On The Sound of You and Me, Garrison Starr's sixth release since 1996, Starr proclaims that heartbreak over and over again during each of the album's 11 tracks. In this release, Starr has created an album for herself but not her audience. She has found a quality of sound that is both enrapturing and distant, and the listener can almost imagine Starr sitting alone on a park bench mourning a lost love.
The album holds the quality of a diary, a place for the author to keep her most secret and passionate thoughts. Although she spills out pain and suffering that she endured with past relationships, Starr turns listeners away after drawing them in close.
On "Sing It Like a Victim," Starr maintains distance from her listeners, but breaks from the expected alt-country guitar riffs and introduces bongos and piano that further complement her voice and elevate her to a position above her more traditional contemporaries. The strings on "Black and White" hold the same sort of a presence, keeping the listener entranced in the music.
Although the album's lyrics might act to mask a special significance, at times they are more akin to the typical, whiny lyrics spoken by stereotypical country artists, abound with clichés and transparent observations. On "We Were Just Boys and Girls," one of the most prominent and repeated lyrics states, "You make me feel lousy," leaving nothing to the imagination.
Despite her innovative approach to the alt-country genre, Starr occasionally encounters difficulty in capturing the full attention of her audience. The introduction of new instrumentation on some of the tracks creates novelty, which is undermined by Starr's lack of innovation. The tracks are only glimpses of a developing originality stolen away scarcely following realization.
Starr's lyrics are lackluster at best, and her music is hardly worth a second glance, but something below the surface keeps the listener from pressing the stop button. Her songs, bare and austere in both appearance and composition, are symbolic of a fine barrier between her audience and what is essentially her soul. We are allowed not only a look into what makes Starr a person, but also at what composes love and heartbreak.
