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Lucy
Kaplansky, “Over The Hills” |
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[Red House Records] |
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June 2008 |

As Spring takes wing here in the Northeast,
with everything from yellow rumped warblers
to moles claiming their territory, the music
of Lucy Kaplansky sweetly presents itself to
the eager listener in this new season.
Kaplansky’s newest disc is a nugget to be
treasured, composed of gorgeous melodies and
striking lyrics. Her voice is at once
buoyant and captivating, full of honey and
substance one moment, then floating to
effortless heights the next. On Over The
Hills, Kaplansky nestles her gifted
vocals within the creative confines of Larry
Campbell and Duke Levine playing a
concoction of electric, acoustic and pedal
steel guitars (as well as fiddle and
mandolin), with solid foundation provided by
Stephen Crump on bass and Ben Wittman on
percussion. Kaplansky is also joined on
several numbers by the fine background
vocals of Richard Shindell, Eliza Gilkyson,
Buddy Miller and Jonatha Brooke. Each of
these singers contribute their own
distinctive vocal color to Kaplansky’s
sparkling voice, melding beautifully with
Kaplansky’s lyrics in their own place and
time.
The lyric place that Kaplansky invites us
into in Over The Hills is a green
glade filled with life’s gentle memories,
the passage of time and fleeting love and
lessons learned along the way. This is an
intimate autobiographical journey, with
Kaplansky sharing her own family memories
and blessings. Her journey starts with a
lilting ode to a young child’s observations
in “Manhattan Moon,” in which innocent
truths are silhouetted against a lovely
light melody, showcasing Levine’s gentle
mandolin caresses. Kaplansky then delivers a
beautiful version of the fragile Bryan Ferry
tune, “More Than This,” which will have you
luxuriating in the crystal clear waters of
Kaplansky’s vocals spilling over Brooke’s
delicate background vocals. There is magic
here between these two vocalists, burnished
by Campbell’s pedal steel guitar colors.
This gem will test your system’s ability to
catch the highest reaches of Kaplansky’s
breathy climbs and convey all of the natural
image dimensionality and ambient clues that
this fine recording provides. “Amelia” is a
slow burning tale involving one woman’s
memories of violence and bitterness in her
marriage, combined with the hope of a new
generation of women unfolding. Listen to
Wittman’s deep bass drum as it resonates and
simmers in the background of “Amelia” and
then how it propels the pulsating June
Carter classic, “Ring of Fire” with Campbell
and Levine each letting loose on swirling
guitar solos. Kaplansky joins the fray with
a smoky, Southern warmth to her lower
registers, perfectly snaring the heady
emotional impact of this burner. From this
heat we head to the swimming hole, taking in
the carefree string swing of Loudon
Wainwright III’s “Swimming Song,”
highlighted by Campbell’s rising fiddle,
Charlie Giordano’s accordion and Levine’s
staccato guitar picking, all backing
Kaplansky’s crisp vocals and lightly drawn
memories of Summer.
Summer turns to Autumn on two poignant
ballads, “Today’s The Day” and the title
track, “Over The Hills”, both quietly
offering a glimpse into the life and passing
of a loving parent. (Kaplansky has dedicated
this recording to her father, Irving
Kaplansky). Both of these songs are simple
poetic statements, wound around Kaplansky’s
lone voice and guitar, nestled in the
comfort of gorgeous backing vocals and
everyday memories. The recording ends with
two sweet, poignant songs. First, there is
the flowing “Someday Soon” that showcases
Kaplansky’s talented band and her smooth,
honeyed vocals floating effortlessly above
fragile mandolin and guitar lines. This is
followed by the luminescence of “The Gift,”
a final statement about the passing of
generations and the precious bounty left
behind on life’s winding path to be picked
up by the next Spring traveler. With this
beautiful, inspired recording, Kaplansky has
left us just such precious gifts to ponder.
We welcome any suggestions for audiophile
recording gems. Please write to
nelsonbrill@stereotimes.com

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