Sweetly energetic in the opening refrains, Kim Taylor possesses a grit that's a little deceptive until one becomes acclimated to the increasingly Kim Carnes-ish echo in her voice, then the straightforward Simon & Garfunkel nature of her simple but very effective approach, and finally the ache of life experienced, indited in cuts like Open Wide, a gripping existential reflection of despair in a well-worn urban overcoat. Even the CD title carries an ironic overtone not detectable until the listener starts to notice the deepening gloom.
Do You Ever Feel Lonely revivifies exactly what made Janis Ian a cult figure reverently worshipped a la Tori Amos back in the opening of the 70s, a naked exposition of female longing delivered not as a victim but as a pining force torn by the intensity of her own psyche and biochemistry, honest while unhedging. Taylor's dated herself beautifully by locating the point at which folk music began to wake up to its own transforming bohemianism. Thus, the listener obtains both in a smoky stripped down platform that remains poetic, transparent, and sympathetic.
The listener's affinities for Taylor grow as the CD proceeds. The reason for this lies in her execution, a form respecting tradition while inserting a subtle dimension of personality that separates the poetess from the observer, ushering the audient into a deeper world that yet remains everyday and rustic. Thank the muses, if you'll be so kind, that she chose to keep things minimal. Perhaps the cover of Lucinda Williams' Sharp Cutting Wings shows this best, keeping Taylor just slightly ahead of the sparse backing instrumentation, gently emphatic while integrative, a matter of setting a dove down in satin.
Edited by: David N. Pyles
Copyright 2010, Peterborough Folk Music Society.
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