Oren Lavie
The Opposite Side of the Sea

THE REVIEW

I often find myself browsing Ondarock (or Debaser itself) to read some reviews: just as frequently, I come across positive comments, exaggerated ratings, and effusive praise for new artists that pique my curiosity. So, I go to discover these supposed talents on YouTube: in 90% of cases, they are pleasant listens, but they pass right over me, going in one ear and out the other with incredible ease. But in 10% of cases, I'm struck, I delve deeper, I listen more and more to that music, and I realize I've found something worth keeping a place for in my heart.

This is the case with the Israeli Oren Lavie, a worthy disciple of Nick Drake, but not a clone: while Oren shares several characteristics with the author of Pink Moon (including his voice, which, although deeper than Nick's, strongly resembles it), he has a very personal compositional style, and, more importantly, is incredibly mature: his "The Opposite Side of the Sea" is indeed a collection of 11 practically perfect gems, a sort of "Bryter Layter" recorded 40 years later, where it is difficult, almost impossible, to identify a superfluous note or anything even slightly out of place.

It starts with the single "Her Morning Elegance", a pop-jazz tune with a melody dictated by a warm vibraphone over a carpet of electric piano. The piece is catchy yet delicate, enveloping, and deeply moving: a potential evergreen, in short. The subsequent "The Man Who Isn't There" and "The Opposite Side of the Sea" rely on more sophisticated structures: the first begins with a subdued tone, the melancholic singing accompanied by a tender piano; soon, the strings weave intricate patterns and embellish the vocal melody. The second is an orchestral pop piece with a formidable harmonic sequence supported by a refined string arrangement. The warm, intimate voice, the sweet and clean guitar arpeggios, the string embellishments of violins and cellos touch the heart and make it leap: this is music to be listened to with caution and moderation; with prolonged use, its effect might fade.

If "Locked in a Room" appears almost essential, with its bucolic arpeggios, compared to the previous two pieces, "Ruby Rises" regains pomp: an introduction that leaves room even for a flute, a verse with calm tones but an epic flavor, a lullaby-like chorus complete with vibraphone chimes. It is the most complex piece of the lot by far. But the gem is set perfectly at the center of the album: "A Dream Within A Dream" is a folk-jazz piece of rare sadness/beauty. The voice is resigned, whispering, Drake-like; the guitar transports you to a snowy forest and immediately offers warmth. Your heart is frozen and then immediately warmed: essentially, a wonderful musical oxymoron.

"Trouble Don't Rhyme", with the sound of rain in the background, relies on a childlike yet memorable melody and a simple, poignant chorus. "A Short Goodbye" is melancholic, serene, slightly driven by minimal percussion: there's no doubt about it, Oren Lavie already has his own distinctive mark with his first work. And that's no small feat. Another pinnacle is "Don't Let Your Hair Grow Too Long": a mournful piano intro for a delicate and somber jazz piece that leaves a mark (personal opinion: a nice sax solo would not have looked out of place in this piece). The serene "Blue Smile" fully captures the autumnal atmosphere of the album. With the hidden track "A Quarter Past Wonderful", a fantastic swing-jazz reminiscent of Nick Drake's "Man in a Shed", this magical journey ends: it's just as well, after all, there was the risk of overdosing on wonder.

Given the poor success of this album, which, first released in 2007, sold only 20 copies in 2 years, I wish Oren Lavie doesn't end up like the singer-songwriter born in Rangoon who sang about fruit trees and things behind the sun: or rather, my ears sincerely hope for a new "Pink Moon," but my heart doesn't want another great artist to be killed by Tryptizol. It has already claimed enough victims.