Yesterday morning and afternoon, before an impending storm, gray clouds gathered in the sky, blocking the sun. Tree branches bounced against the wind, their green leaves rustling. By late night, the bad weather had knocked out power to some, drenched others, but pretty much left us alone. Such is life, however. Even in spring, a time of rebirth, threats loom.
Abbey Blackwell’s Dream a Day is an evocative song cycle centered on dreams imagined and discharged, with their meanings hidden both in plain sight and between the lines. As she sings in “Rise and Set,” “Now you and I are just some words/I say them now they sound absurd.” At the same time, there’s a duality at play: It’s also an album-long meditation about past, present and impending gloom. Good times fade, loved ones pass, and heartache transforms into a giant pain in the…well, I’ll skip that (cheap) rhyme. But we’ve all been there, am I right? We grieve things large and small, important and not, and ponder the reasons why. Cherished memories turn bittersweet. Sadness tinges everything. Yet not all is bleak: “I’m still wasting time on carousels,” she admits in “The Chase.”
The 13-track, Bandcamp-only release features acoustic numbers and supple band arrangements. The stark “Lightning Bolt” aches, for instance, while “Be There” finds her and friends achieving a comfortable groove. Blackwell possesses a deep well of a voice that somehow holds within its grainy textures the totality of spacetime—at least it seems that way in the moment. (As she sings in “Light in the Day,” “It’s nice to find physics in the day I’d sought to mold.”) It’s not an album designed for either short drives or lengthy roadtrips, however, as it demands one’s full attention. It’s a riveting and rewarding listen.
In addition to singing, Blackwell—who wrote all the songs—plays bass, acoustic guitar, and vibraphone; Norman Robbins handles electric guitar, lap steel, keyboards, percussion, and vibraphone; and Evan Woodle plays the drums, percussion.
The Old Grey Cat 