Ramona Silver, the artist formerly known as Shari Russell, is somewhat
of a staple on both the Boston radio scene and club circuit. You might
even call her a local favorite. Her last album, You and Me and Hell,
spent four weeks on WFNX's "Boston Rocks" Top Five, and was praised by
everyone from the Boston Phoenix to Billboard and The Blue Man Group. This
new album, Ultrasound, stands to surpass it in accolades galore.
Despite all this, her fame is surprisingly local. Even given her appreciable
talent, she remains Boston's best kept secret.
There are aspects of Silver's work to date that conjure up a host
of alterna-chicks glutting the radio, but repeated listens garner more
delightful differences than blase comparisons. If her more guitar-oriented
debut album took more of its cues from Liz Phair, this new one draws closer
to Suzanne Vega's recent work (like 99.9 F and Nine Objects of
Desire) without repeating it. There are also elements of Sam Phillips,
The Beach Boys, and even Janet Jackson's more creative moments, which contribute
to an album that is pure pop with all the wonderfully eclectic edges intact.
For example, "In Your Soul" sounds melodically like it was drawn from those
old School House
Rock cartoons on Saturday morning, which is appropriate given the
colorful, almost cartoon-ish sound of the album. Appropriately, that song
also offers lessons worth learning:
Giving's just
a reaction to love
And sinning's
just a reaction to all the things we dream of
Being's just
a reaction to everything we can't control.
It's in your
soul.
Not pure theology, perhaps, but worth pondering.
On Ultrasound, Silver pays tribute to a childhood of piano
lessons with more organs and keyboards and less guitar. The sonic differences
between albums only begin there. Her husband, Danny Horrid (of the band
Hezze), plays the ukulele, cornet, trombone, tambourine, and even a glockenspiel.
The musical results, as you might imagine, are uncommon yet always fresh
and pleasantly accessible: literally the ultrasound the listener hopes
for and the title promises. Actually, the album title is a play on words,
since it also refers to Silver's studio-time experience while anxiously
awaiting the birth of her baby, Hazel, whose ultrasound photo graces the
space in the case underneath the CD. Her older daughter's lively art work
adorns the album cover.
Silver's voice is not overly unique but always extremely enjoyable.
She knows how to use it to its fullest effect. Her real gift is coupling
her talented voice with memorable melodies and lushly layered harmonies.
All those days singing in the choir for the Baptist church she attended
as a youth were well spent.
The production value on the album is excellent. Although super-producer
Mitchell Froom had nothing to do with this project, it sure sounds like
he could have. The varied instrumentation, creative rhythms; crafty, well-executed
song-writing; and the production crispness all contribute to an album that
has more highlights than lesser moments. Among the brightest and best,
"Had My Day," with its Sam Phillips-esque big happy hit sound, is probably
the most affable both musically and lyrically:
Though we hardly
felt the sun
And we hardly
felt the rain
We knew that
we could run
And hide from
all the pain
Now standing
here with you
Is the only
way to deal
and I pray that
when we're through
We may all be
healed.
Although just about every song sounds like it would be right at
home on the radio, it is the whole of these parts that is most impressive.
The constant attention to sonic detail, the strength of the overall creation,
and the inclusion of some very amusing bits make this album stand out well
ahead of the pack. The album's most charming moment is "Star, Star," which
was co-written with Silver's young daughter, Free. The track begins with
Free playing and singing a song for her mom, and then Ramona's interpretation
of it kicks in with a dizzy array of complimentary instrumentation. Talent
obviously runs in the family, and the result here is sheer fun. The instrumental
track "All Skate" follows. Complete with a cheesy organ, it would sound
so perfectly at home at your local roller-skating rink that you might easily
find yourself reminiscing of those former, happy days spinning with your
sweetie. After twelve tracks sharp with wit and style, the lush cover of
Mark Heard's "Remarks to Mr. McLuhan" closing the album is just a perfect,
added bonus. Dare I say it? It's more fun than the original.
Ultrasound gets its biggest A+ for creativity, and only one negligible
demerit. Ramona Silver pulls a bit of a Sam Phillips here, by turning in
a shorter than usual album. Ultrasound is definitely a case of more
would've been better. Regardless, she is an artist more than deserving
of mass exposure. The time is right and the secret is out.
Steven Stuart Baldwin (10/22/98)
