Album review: Emmylou Harris, 'Hard Bargain'
2.5 stars (out of 4)
At one time, Harris’ voice was like country’s angelic consciousness, a reminder of its essence as the Nashville sound became increasingly suburban-ized. Her brief early ‘70s partnership with the late Gram Parsons left her with a sense of mission to carry the music forward without forgetting its past. She slipped between the cracks of genre, touching on rock and gospel, soul and folk, even as she hewed to country’s plainspoken truths. By the mid-‘90s, her voice had lost some of its pristine luster, but she plunged into even riskier, less-well-defined territory as an artist, spearheading Nashville’s progressive wing with Buddy and Julie Miller, Gillian Welch and Steve Earle.
“Hard Bargain” (Nonesuch) was recorded with just three musicians; Harris, Giles Reeves and producer Jay Joyce play pretty much everything on the album. Its intimacy settles around the listener like a fog, Harris’ voice drifting past with spectral fragility. Never the most innovative songwriter, she relies primarily on earnest originals that touch on big subjects without offering much in the way of insight or revelation: an infamous civil-rights-era murder (“My Name is Emmett Till”), Hurricane Katrina (“New Orleans”), Parsons yet again (“The Road”). But she brings a conversational grace to “Darlin’ Kate” (a tribute to her late friend, songwriter Kate McGarrigle) and a forlorn dignity to “Lonely Girl.” It’s not so much what these songs say but how -- the sound of a slow, disintegrating beauty that Harris in her fifth decade of music-making has mastered.
greg@gregkot.com