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♫ Laura Burhenn
♫ Wanderlust
♫ Laboratory
♫ May 2004

I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed a visit back to Dallas for the holidays as much as these last few days. I hope everyone else had just as pleasant of an experience as mine was.

I've been wanting to review this album for months.

Back when I hosted poker games one or two nights a week last spring semester, one of my good fellow music snob friends would occasionally bring over his iPod to promote a few of the artists that he was currently listening to. Although he and I have very different leanings when it comes to certain styles of rock, we were able to carry on a conversation about a number of obscure independent acts without so much as an afterthought. So whilst we never necessarily liked a lot of the same things, our similar drive to stay on top of any and all active outfits elicited all sorts of pretentious name-dropping and “Dude, whatever, they’re fucking terrible”-esque commentary across the green felt.

So when this guy walked through my front door with his iPod clutched in his hands as usual, I didn’t really think it’d be any different of a poker night, until...

“Hey, man, I think I’ve got something you might really like,” he affirmed. “I know you’re into whispery female vocals...”

Naturally, I was curious.

“Whatcha got for me?”

He kind of scratched his head. “Um, her name’s Laura Burhenn.”

I’d never heard of her before at that point. I just shrugged and didn’t know what to think. We ended up kicking off the night with whatever asinine mainstream rap mix I had going over one of my roommates’ Mp3 CD player, but after a couple dozen of hands, it didn’t take too long for Music Snob Buddy to remind me, “Hey, so you wanna listen to some of that Laura Burhenn?”

I nodded. “Yeah, hook it up.”

Needless to say, I was pretty much enraptured after Burhenn’s vocal entrance on Wanderlust’s opener, “Helicopters”, superseding the opening bars of a delicate triplets run on the Wurlitzer. Being as infatuated as I am with this particular vocal style, I can now compare her to a lot more artists after having a few months to dwell on the thought – the best I can describe it is that she’s more or less inherited Fiona Apple’s voice quality. More interestingly, however, is that she’s seemingly traded in Apple’s propensity for torchy bravados somewhere along the way in favor of a softer, deeper, and more pristine delivery frighteningly reminiscent of Sophie Barker (check out my previous review of her and Zero 7).

Thankfully, after undoubtedly several hundred spins of this record to confirm and re-confirm this, Burhenn can write songs and play instruments with as much mind and grace as well as she can sing. And also to my pleasant surprise, I found out she was versed in virtually all manners of keys instruments, from pianos to organs to Wurlitzers.

The instrumentation and refinement used on this album are of a perfect balance; no track ever sounds “too acoustic” as to appear overly bare, stripped down, or under-produced, and likewise, the polishes made to the album electronically never override the organic quality created by the keys-led melodies. It’s a bevy of electric basses and guitars meshing perfectly well alongside pianos and lending the love tunes an honest, alternatingly minimalist and full multi-piece ensemble quality (her Leonard Cohen cover of “Chelsea Hotel No. 2” springs to mind). But that’s not to say that Burhenn is nothing more than a bleeding heart with overly romanticized generalizations of love; her swagger comes out a bit in the rhythm section-heavy “Lullabye” and “Meltdown” to illustrate her passion in another light.

And whilst she’s not the technical marvel that, say, Chick Corea is behind the whites and blacks, Burhenn’s ability literally bend your emotions to her will is what clinches for me her undeniable command over keys and music theory.

All of the dynamics and deliberation – the stretched, sustained, swelling and falling notes, and the hushed runs and rhythms – that she incorporates into her painstaking keystrokes allows her playing to take on an entity all its own. “Electrical Sun” and the anthemic “Tattoo” feature poignant, unmistakable climaxes all the way into the last few bars of the song, both starting with an understated Wurlitzer melody, light cymbal rides and rim knocks, and Burhenn’s serene voice – that is until the rhythm section and electric guitars join in to back the melody and make their presences felt. Colorful brushstrokes are painted with cascading arpeggios in “Just for the Night” as she runs triads up and down the scales against her keys, all while singing in a restrained but moving fashion.

It’s this attention to these finer details that compel me to come back for multiple listens. Conversely, there’s also something unmatched in listening to Evgeny Kissin shredding apart a masterfully-crafted Frederic Chopin mazurka, but there will always been something in the simple piano balladry of musicians like Burhenn that allow me to regard them both forms of sophistication and elegance in equal amounts of esteem.

As far as her songwriting goes, it’s a safe bet to say that it’s pretty much fantastic throughout the entire record. The playful, melodic “Alphabet Soup”, my favorite song on the record, showcases subtly rhythmic and charming wordplay to vividly color in a wonderfully-enunciated narrative. She flirts with little metaphors and analogies and psychology references in a seemingly stream-of-conscious, free association manner; but what might initially be interpreted as mere lyrical meandering is dashed as her meticulous choice of words effortlessly allows listeners to weave and envision Burhenn’s gorgeous tapestries. Something like that could only be birthed by brilliant design.

And even as the gears are dramatically shifted with the passage of the formless, dreamlike “White Noise”, whose lyrically Spartan quality makes it a complete contrast of the rest of the album, Burhenn still manages to convey yet another sense of weightless beauty with dense electronic production and a sparse, gently-repeated chorus. The track’s hypnotic ethereality segues in and out virtually unnoticed against Wanderlust’s generally structured and focused framework.

And it might seem like a copout for me to say this, but the final track on the album is definitely an appropriate recommendation for the song that combines all three of her strengths into a sad, heart-wrenching tune. Beautiful piano-playing and sincere lyricism are present, but it’s her singing towards the end of it all that really allows this song to take flight. She is, by no means, a power singer in any sense of the word, but still manages to deliver as much conviction as any of those Mariah Carey or Christina Aguilera balladeers out there. Vocal versatility is the name of the game of this understated chanteuse, and it has served Burhenn kindly.

With only two proper albums, this is Burhenn’s finest creation to date: the biggest, most balladic and heartfelt testimony for love and serenity spread across 11 tracks. These are some of the most disarmingly soothing songs you will find this side of Norah Jones, and you'd be hard-pressed to deny that this material is just as R&R-inducing. Mark my words – when I'm mere days away from death during my 97th year of life on earth, and it comes time to compile my top albums of all time, this record will surely make that cut. No questions asked. Download it, buy it from CD Baby, find it on my personal radio, do something; I sincerely doubt you will regret taking that chance.