From the opening vocals that seem to channel Janis Joplin, Amy Millan draws from the musical past to create an album that’s more rooted in Americana than Norman Rockwell—ironic since she is from Canada. With country and folk influences, the songs focus on the eternals: love, loss and whiskey. Millan’s voice dances between a girlish nonchalance and a deep melancholy, the whole time creating an almost dangerous appeal to a woman who often lyrically embraces a bottle of booze. The music and vocals are simple in the way Steinbeck’s writing was simple—deceptively so because each movement was meticulously created. A 20,000-person crowd fed through an extensive sound system doesn’t deserve this honey. That honor should be reserved for intimate bars and lonely dirt roads.
Amy Millan
