Natalie Merchant’s latest album is a treasure. She takes American and British poems about children and childhood and sets them to all kinds of melodies and instruments: the accordion, cello, banjo, harp, clarinet, and flute; the bass, oboe, French horn, and violin. The effect is a magical journey with beautiful lyrics.
I admit that when I first heard about this project, I was skeptical. Poetry and music have elements of each other, but they are separate genres for a reason. I teach poetry; I love it and respect it, but I thought that making poems lyrics would spoil them, take away their inherent beauty and depth.
I was wrong, and seriously underestimated Merchant’s talent. If someone else tried this, it’s quite possible that they’d fail miserably. But diligent research, exploration, planning, and six years of composing helped the former 10,000 Maniacs frontwoman create one of the most fantastic albums I’ve heard in a long time. Each song feels like a magical, mystery escape into a dream world. Old language and imagery, paired with myriad string and folk instruments hearkens of warm days in the country, girls shaking ankle-length skirts as they spin with flowers in their hair. Before listening to Leave Your Sleep, I had not heard or read any of the poems Merchant adapts, but they quickly and easily enter your brain and enchant you with a not too distant, soulful past.
The album’s two discs–the first called “Leave Your Supper”; the second, “Leave Your Sleep”–are set inside a colorful book of lyrics, each a poem in its original form, complete with a photograph of the poet and a description of his or her life. The first song, a poem Charles Causley called “Nursery Rhyme of Innocence and Experience,” is about a young boy who asks a sailor to bring him back toys his travels, but learns, years later, the ravages of war. Most of the poems are more cheerful, however. The second, perhaps my favorite on the album, is a simple melody called “Equestrienne”:
And nothing that moves on land or sea
Will seem more beautiful to me
As the girl in pink on the milk-white horse
Cantering over the sawdust course.
Merchant pulls from even more traditions in “The King of China’s Daughter,” using the erhu and dizi flute as she sings of “the nutmeg grove.” Ogden Nash’s poem, “Adventures of Isabel” starts off the second disc–a folk ballad about a fearless girl who tackles a bear, a witch, a giant, even a doctor, and uses their strengths against them. One can’t help but laugh at the regretful creature in “The Sleepy Giant” who “used to pick up and voraciously chew / The dear little boys whom [he] met.”
The end of the album turns a bit more somber–a Gerard Manley Hopkins piece about sorrow, and Lydia Huntley Sigourney’s 19th century poem about the plight of Native Americans. Yet the entire album is a celebration of the children we have been and still can be, if we open ourselves up to the beauties of the world with wide and imaginative ears.
{ 1 comment }
