NJ.com
Tris Mccall
CD Review
Julia Vorontsova
Title: Julia
From: St. Petersburg. Russia, not Florida.
Though it's pretty clear her base of operations is now Jersey
City.
Format: A five song EP. I could be wrong
here, but I think it's a teaser for an upcoming full-length.
Fidelity: Relatively lo-fi, but you'll
never notice. This is singer-songwriter music, and Vorontsova's
performances are so quietly intense that the last thing you'll
be concerned about is sound quality.
Genre: Folk. By any definition, this is
world music, too.
Arrangements: One young woman, one guitar.
My guess is that her axe is a nylon-stringed job -- its tone is
delicate, faraway, naturally compressed. Vorontsova rarely
strums; instead she picks at the instrument in hypnotic,
circular patterns. Both her voice and guitar are suffused in a
misty reverb.
What's this record about?: Vorontsova sings
her songs in Russian. I can sound out the cyrillic writing on
the CD cover, but that's as far as I can get. Anybody got a
translation? An account with Babelfish?
The singer: Her press materials report that
Julia Vorontsova is eighteen years old, but you'd never know
that by her voice, or, for that matter, her performances.
Vorontsova sings in a heavy, world-weary whisper; it's
intimate, aching, intoxicating as brandy, and twice as
addictive. My CD doesn't have a clear tracklisting, but it
hardly matters -- Vorontsova's breathy, husky alto is
consistent from track to track, bending acrobatically from note
to note, gracing these melodies, pleading, persuading. This is
a turn-out-the-lights-and-stare-out-the-window voice, an
introspective voice resonant with lived experience. Of course,
without a translator, I can't tell you what that experience is,
but these letter-perfect folk performances are resonant with
tantalizing clues.
The guitar: Usually a pitter-patter of
notes or a scrape of strings in a dusty corner, but sometimes
an elegantly-weaved pattern or a gently percussive, insistent
thrum. Julia's production reminds me of that of the Nick
Drake's outtakes that became Time Of No Reply, and Vorontsova
communicates some of that same austerity -- that same
disturbing calm. This is about as far from rock guitar patterns
as you can get, but any six-string fan can surely recognize
that Vorontsova's approach to her instrument is steeped in folk
idiom and subtly accomplished. She never loses her poise, her
inner sense of rhythm, or her grace, and she is as good a
guitar player at eighteen as any young singer-songwriter I've
ever heard.
The songs: Built around descending chord
patterns that sound foreign, but never unfamiliar. A fragile
melody escapes from the chords of the opening track
("Rome", I think it's called -- I am guessing with
these based on some light-type words printed across the back of
the sleeve); "Love", another minor-chord ballad,
alternates between low, muttered phrases, and transparent,
fragile held notes on its angelic release. Both are repetitive
-- as folk music generally is -- but they're also relatively
short, surprisingly propulsive, and consistently compelling.
"Picnic", the most aggressive song here, is also the
most identifiably Russian -- even without Vorontsova's vocals,
this melody and accompaniment would get you halfway to Red
Square. "Faberge" is short and luminous, and
functions as preparation for the final track: a killer called
"Grandfather" with a bleak verse and a gorgeous
chorus that swings open like an iron gate. I don't know if
Voronsova wrote these songs, or if they're adaptations, or if
they're straightforward traditional material. If they're hers,
she's a hell of a tunesmith -- if they're not, she's a terrific
curator of her own aesthetic choices.
What distinguishes this record from other
records of its genre?: I know there's plenty of traditional
Russian music, but it's safe to say that the vast majority of
it is in Russia. Most critics and other amateur musicologists
like to feign a great breadth of multi-culti knowledge, but
honestly, this is the closest most of us rockers and folkies
are going to get to Moscow spring.
What's not so good?: I can't think of
anything to say here. Somebody help me out; knock Julia
Vorontsova for something, anything. She's just a kid, we don't
want her getting a swelled head. Hmm, I suppose the EP could
have been mastered more effectively -- the third track comes in
a little too softly, and the reverb bath on the second song
could have been better compensated for, too. Man, talk about
your minor quibbles. When all you've got to complain about is
the mastering, you've just got to give it up to the artist.
Recommended?: I remember back in 2002 I was
in Greenpoint before walking to practice, and I went into a
Russian juice bar. The guy behind the counter was playing these
Eastern European rap records, and they were amazing --
musically innovative, attitudinous, posturing, hypnotic.
I stayed in the bar for an hour, just listening to the emcees
and wishing I knew what the hell they were saying. Now, I don't
usually do that well with instrumental music, and you all know
I like to throw stones at abstract art: if it doesn't have
words I can follow, I generally want to leave it at the counter
and go and put on a Randy Newman record. Julia Vorontsova's
music does have words -- they're just not words I
understand. Like the salseros and merenguistas in my old
neighborhood in Union City, she sings so well that she draws me
into her songs -- her universe -- anyway. In so doing, she's
managed to accomplish what all my professors could not: she
makes me wish I knew Russian.
Where can I get a copy/hear more?:
Vorontsova's music is being released through Jersey City-based
Abaton Book Company, a small local label that knows a thing or
two about startlingly talented teenagers.
Julia Vorontsova will be performing tonight
(March 5) at Jersey City Hall on Grove Street for the Waterbug
Hotel's City Hall Blowout. The party lasts from six to nine,
sharp.
