Imagine sinking into a sensory deprivation tank, where the Epsom salt-imbued water is heated to skin temperature, and floating at surface’s edge. It’s pitch black, of course, and the only sounds are found in one’s head, with songs and thoughts bobbing forth from the recesses of the mind. Some memories are good, others bad, but either/or matters not. Calmness envelops one’s essence.
That, to an extent, aptly describes Molly Parden’s Sacramented album, which features lyrics and melodies that intertwine with the soul. The melancholic songs explore love and loss, broken hearts, and how the past informs the present. Mid-tempo all, the 10 tracks play out as if a symphony of sadness and introspection, digging into heartbreak and Parden’s childhood for inspiration. Its nominal starts and stops aside, Sacramented is best experienced in full. (To quote another melancholic impresario, Neil Young, “It’s all one song!”) The sound is expanded beyond its folky origin with electric guitars, vibraphone, synthesizers and clarinets, and most notably Parden’s vocals, which linger as if cloud wisps in the sky.
The result is quite mesmerizing, in other words. One highlight is “Dandy Blend,” in which she recounts the aftermath of a relationship: “I can’t mean nothing to you/I take you with me, do you?” It’s as uptempo as the album gets.
The long-ago first single, “Cigarette,” is another highlight. The embers of memory glow with every draw: “I miss you and I want to go back.”
I planned to spotlight the album the weekend after its release on October 13 but—as has happened this year more than most—life got in the way. What I planned to say then I can reconfirm now: It’s a mesmerizing set well worth one’s time. Give it a go.
The Old Grey Cat 
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