Will Oldham has proven to be one of the most enigmatic American singer/songwriters of the past 15 years. Guising himself under a range of quixotic monikers that included Palace, Palace Songs and Palace Brothers, Oldham closed the 20th century as Bonnie "Prince" Billy and seems to have settled on it for the time being. Apart from this oddity, his music throughout the late '90s and early 2000s was consistently greeted with surprised reverence for its naked minimalism and lo-fi choral balladry. In 1999, he released "I See a Darkness," a dark, brooding and melodic work, and won his broadest critical acclaim. The title track caught the ear of the great Johnny Cash and wound up as a cover song on his 2000 album, "American III: Solitary Man."
Oldham's most recent offering, The Letting Go, does not artistically deviate in any shattering way from his previous material. His motif still stems from weeping acoustics, pastoral shades and delicate lyricism. The spare flow and aged vulnerability of "I See a Darkness" still remain. But the strikingly lush symphonic arrangements, which are woven through much of this work, lend gorgeous immediacy and vibrancy to many moments that otherwise could have plummeted into ponderous invocations. Coupled with siren backup vocals and a tonal oscillation between plaintive and whimsical, the fertile sounds of "The Letting Go" rarely cease to emote and quietly stimulate.
The skill of these 13 stirring numbers largely springs from the pristine balance that Oldham establishes between earthy moods and the heavenly glide of chamber strings. At times, the two flow astride each other in sharp harmony while, periodically, Oldham prefers the strum and snarl of guitars alone to guide the rhythmic courses. The lulling opener, "Love Comes to Me," features a backdrop of airy acoustics and crisp violins that watchfully hover over and beneath Oldham's vocal line. But the unassertive pitch belies its impact. The lyrics "You call on God and God is dead" need these achingly sparse adornments to sound as resonant as they do. It's a wondrous song, all the more for its simplicity. Similarly, on "Wai," thick acoustic plucks, soft percussion and cymbal taps all coalesce to beautifully texturize Oldham's lovelorn musings: "O love, O love, O careless love/ I only want to lay with thee." On such offerings, the parallel structure of rustic acoustics and ethereal strings merge indelibly and infuse Oldham's evocative words with swaying tones.
The generally restrained disposition of The Letting Go does, at moments, give way for forays into more brisk and bouncy processions. The standout "Cursed Sleep" unfolds like classic Jeff Buckley, with crackling guitars and wavy orchestrics that only nearly erupt and sonic layers that gradually reveal their dynamism. Its temperament, though, remains moderate. This differs decidedly from "The Seedling," a moody charger during which Oldham sings with a lashing bite and angrily rebukes a detractor. The dark violins cut and slash and create palpable tension out of the sound's crashing energy. It's another gem, however roughly surfaced, amid a string of affecting songs.
The emotive atmosphere that blankets much of The Letting Go would not overflow with autumnal beauty without the stunning vocal harmonies provided by Dawn McCarthy of Faun Fables. Often delivered in only a whisper, her gentle moan shadows Oldham's yearnings and, like a separate instrument, creates an ache or an echo when a mood needs amplification. On "Lay and Love," McCarthy's croon adds volume to floating notes but still manages to augment their fragility. The back and forth narrative line of "Then the Letting Go" permits her to take on the role of fateful girl and use quiet moments to sing with a stirring howl. It would be criminal to minimize her centrality to the success of this album. McCarthy and Oldham complement each other at every turn and offer up a beautiful dual performance.
Oldham's vocals navigate a blend of emotions and colorations: raspy, world-weary, contrite and solemn. But his experience of age and maturity is heard plainly throughout. He speaks to themes of birth, mortality, love lost and love regained. "Big Friday" showcases Oldham as a master weaver of tones. He lays down a whimsical number, with dreamy plucking and rattling nursery effects, as a vehicle for articulating his highest aspirations: "And if I had to live, this is what it should be/ To have such a woman with me." It's a trick of contrasts that he delivers successfully.
With hardly a single misstep, The Letting Go is undoubtedly one of the finest albums of 2006. It will satisfy the needs of Oldham's seemingly invisible fan base and hopefully reach the ears of the unacquainted. Many will marvel.
Grade: Four and a half out of five stars.
