Shannon Wright
Secret Blood

Spirited on stage, a huge talent unknown to most, Shannon Wright has been one of the best-kept secrets of American singer-songwriter music for over a decade. In addition to boasting an impressive resume (collaborations with Yann Tiersen and Steve Albini; tours with Nick Cave, Calexico, and Dirty Three among others), she produces albums that are more intriguing than the last, perhaps little known due to the singer's somewhat reserved approach, endowed with a soft whisper that may remind one of a less bluesy Cat Power; but let's stop with the comparisons here, also to avoid diminishing a style that could not be more personal.

Secret Blood (the ninth album by the Georgian, released in 2011) moves in two directions. There are decidedly harsh sounds, with the guitar volume at its peak and the squared-off rhythm section in the manner of Shellac. The results are neuroses declined with the Louisville post-rock verb ("Violent Colours"), venomous guitars ("Fractured") and frenetic stop and go ("Commoners Saint"). On the other hand, Wright delivers piano ballads of austere beauty ("Under The Luminaries", one of the best tracks in her discography), and sketches that perhaps deserved further exploration (the ghostly lullaby of "Satellites" or the chamber-like "Chair to Room" placed at the end). A track like "Dim Reader" acts as a glue between these two approaches, combining the solemn stride of the piano with a guitar that touches almost ambient territories.

Secret Blood is not an easy work to absorb ("Let In The Light" is the most immediate to metabolize and perhaps the best of her albums), permeated as it is with heavy chiaroscuro, made of brief clearings and areas of shadow where darkness is truly dense, of outbursts that never quite manage to be wholly liberating, of unease that barely remains below the surface. For those who are curious, it can be streamed in full here.