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MUSIC
LLuluc
Passerby
Sub Pop, LP or CD
uluc singer Zoë Randell begins Passerby by
looking down on Chicago from the window of
an airplane, the twinkling city lights essentially
speaking to the tender-voiced vocalist in
Morse code. As the plane begins its descent,
the message is one of nervous anticipation,
a lightly strummed ode to new beginnings.
Randell ends the album with an emotional
180, her eyes swelling with tears as she looks
to the sky, with the glowing stars recalling the
memory of a lost loved one.
The group, on both emotional
extremities and all sentiments
in between, never loses its
composure. The folk-pop sound
Randell and creative partner
Steve Hassett produces is one
of amiable reflection, where
guitar chords and harmonies
are never less than precise but
feel as if they could suddenly
dissolve. Passerby often finds
Randell lost in a moment, staring
somewhere off into the horizon.
Memories flow from the sight of
a drawing on “Without a Face.”
“Winter Is Passing” frets about
a reconnection while watching
“bone black twigs fall to the
ground.” The sun sets on long
dead dreams in “Gold on the
Leaves.”
Randell and Hassett,
tastefully augmented by small
choral and brass arrangements,
deliver drama in slow motion
and songs for afternoons
spent watching a light rain.
Passerby is the Australian act’s
second album, but the first to
receive widespread release.
Working with the National’s
Aaron Dessner, the set takes a
less-is-more approach. Violins,
flutes, and harmoniums are
so spare one may be excused
for missing them. Before
catching the attention of Sub
Pop, Luluc had the ear of Joe
Boyd, the prolific producer
who worked with the likes of
Richard Thompson and Nick
Drake. Fittingly, the latter’s
gentle indie-folk serves as a
touchstone.
Passerby is, first and
foremost, a songwriter’s
record, each tune investigating
some form of longing. “Senja”
leaves all the nature references
behind to probe the depths
of a rich girl’s eyes. “A pretty
young face,” Randell sings, her
voice relaxed and nonchalant.
“Already she saw her part and
the boredom.” The acoustic
guitar is clear, but the rest
is a blur, as a piano doesn’t
go out of its way to make its
presence heard. “Reverie On
Norfolk Street” comes on as
the album’s most melodic
moment, and easily its most
readily chamber pop, as
Randell muses how a city has
changed without the company
of another.
“Some noise above,” she
sings, “interrupts my quiet
reverie.” And that offense, one
gets the sense after spending
time with these songs, is a
grave one. —Todd Martens
©Photo by Karl Scullin
50 TONE AUDIO NO.64
July 2014 51