Quantum consciousness posits that self-awareness arises not from neurons alone, but a lattice-like quantum wave that links the internal and external environs. In heightened moments, the theory goes, microtubules within the nerve cells connect to quantum particles beyond the body. Fascinating if true, huh? If taken to the extreme, it means that consciousness exists beyond the confines of the physical; and, too, it’s possible if not probable that some ideas are the product of what’s essentially a shared consciousness, though we may not experience it as thus. It would explain why many ancient civilizations shared similar beliefs, practices and even architecture despite having no knowledge that others existed. And when coupled with various spacetime theories, well, it gets surreal. If the past, present and future exist simultaneously, as some physicists suggest, are my best sentences mine or “borrowed” from Wallace Stevens, James Wright or Denise Levertov? Or did they take their best lines from me? (That assumes that our microtubules all vibrate at the same frequency, of course.)
It differs from Carl Jung’s notion of the collective unconscious, which he theorized was something passed down through the generations and shared by all. The archetypes inherited from distant ancestors drive dreams and imagination, essentially, and also explain why the world’s ancient civilizations shared similar beliefs, practices and architecture. As Stevens wrote in “It Must Be Abstract,” “There was a muddy centre before we breathed./There was a myth before the myth began,/Venerable and articulate and complete.”
I start there, in this review of Sarah Jarosz’s seventh album, because she either tapped into the quantum consciousness or mined the collective unconscious for Polaroid Lovers. At first listen, she channels the soundscape created by Mary Chapin Carpenter, Rosanne Cash and Shawn Colvin, among others, during the early and mid-1990s, when country, folk and even a little pop intermingled not just on AAA radio, but in song. There’s also a dash of the jazzy confessionals that David Crosby embraced throughout his career, but especially from the late ‘90s onward, and—dare I say it?—Tom Petty circa Full Moon Fever.
The set, which was produced by Daniel Tashien, opens with “Jealous Moon.” It’s a mid-tempo delight, featuring driving guitars, a steady beat, mandolin solo and lyrics about relationship regrets: “Baby I don’t know why/I flew away too soon.” “When the Lights Go Out” is, to my ears, a Crosby-esque number, aka perfectly rolled, with Jarosz’s jazzy vocals leading the way. “Runaway Train” pulls its country-pop arrangement straight from Chapin’s early ‘90s playbook; it’s a pure delight.
“The Way It Is Now” is another low-key masterpiece, with knowing lyrics that speak to the passage of time with a true poet’s flair: “This is the way it is now/Even with the darkness nipping at my heels/The goodness is still dancing me around/This is the way it is now/It’s a hard time, but it’s our time/And someday we’ll be looking back/Missing the way it is now.” “Dying Ember,” which follows, brings the guitars back to the forefront, while the confessional lyrics reflect an adult slant on love and relationships.
“Columbus & 89th” ably conveys the nostalgia and even love one has and feels for old hometowns—in her case, New York City. (She relocated to Nashville a few years ago.) It’s a ruminative gem that would be at home on Shawn Colvin’s Steady On or Fat City.
To an extent, the same’s true of “Take the High Road”, too; it shares an apt metaphor about the slow-and-steady approach to life vs. the fast-and-flash. The moody “Don’t Break Down on Me” is sure to appeal to anyone with an aging car, though she turns it into something deeper. The western swing of “Days Can Turn Around” pitches Jarosz as a cowgirl poet espousing hope—perhaps directed at herself, perhaps a friend.
“Good at What I Do” digs into and shares the self-doubts she has about her life and career— which pretty much everyone experiences a time or two throughout their lives. (We’re all good at praising others, not so much at celebrating ourselves.) “Mezcal and Lime” is another low-key gem, this one about the intoxicating power of love, lust, mezcal and lime. It’s a perfect end to what, to my ears, is a perfect album.
The song credits belong to Jarosz and an assortment of cowriters, including Tashien, Jon Randall, Sarah Buxton, Gordie Sampson, Ruston Kelly and Natalie Hemby. Not a syllable or note is wasted nor do the melodies drift; these are compact, compelling odes to life and love in the 21st century. It’s the kind of album you push play on at 8am and keep clicking replay until, before you know it, the day has given way to night.
I’d share the back jacket of the LP here, but since it hasn’t reached me yet, here’s the track list via Apple Music:
The Old Grey Cat 