https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Keep_Your_Courage
On her ninth album, and first in nearly a decade, Natalie Merchant echoes the lushness of her classic Ophelia from 1998—though you can hear the age in her voice. That's not a bad thing. You might not recognize her in the first notes of the excellent "Big Girls," but you will soon enough. Her voice is richer, smokier, and a stunning complement to duet partner Abena Koomson-Davis' warm lilt on both this soulful piano number and its follow-up "Come on, Aphrodite," an appeal to the goddess to deliver all the beauty and messiness of love. Egged on by vibrant horns, Koomson-Davis sounds full of longing, while Merchant is simply commanding: "Make me head over heels/ Make me drunk/ Make me blind/ Over the moon/ Half out of my mind." Merchant has said the 10 songs here "needed all the textures of full orchestrations: wood, metal, gut, reeds, skins, human breath, pressure, and friction," which led her to seven composers, including Gabriel Kahane and Megan Gould, as well as the Celtic folk group Lúnasa. Insistent cowbell escorts in sultry piano and Cab Calloway-style horns on "Tower of Babel," while "Narcissus" is set to romantic guitar and tells that Greek myth from cursed Echo's point of view, letting her speak the complete thoughts she was unable to say in the original story. "I'm nothing but the clear and empty sky above/ I'm light, can you see me?" Merchant sings, her voice at times reaching the clarity of her early 10,000 Maniacs years. And her signature vibrato is perhaps best highlighted on "Song of Himself." She covers "Hunting the Wren" by the Irish folk band Lankum, offering a softer, more delicate contrast to the stoic pain of the original, which uses the bird as a metaphor for exploited women. "Sister Tilly" is a melancholic but playful string tribute to the fading Chelsea Girls and '60s earth mothers of yore—the "women of my mother's generation who are leaving us now," Merchant has said. She lovingly chronicles "your Rilke poems and your stacks of Mother Jones, your feminist raves in your Didion shades, and your Zeppelin so loud and so proud." Near the end, it rolls into an easy, Carly Simon-like sway. (There are shades of Joni Mitchell, meanwhile, on the Celtic-tinged "Eye of the Storm.") The whole thing ends on a dramatic turn with "The Feast of Saint Valentine" and its chamber pop stylings; kudos to Merchant for managing to open a song with the line "In the deep and darkest night of your soul" and close it with "Love will conquer all" without earning any cynicism for those cliches.
