Have you ever looked at a painting by Salvador Dali and thought to yourself, what the f&#k was that guy thinking? But as you stare at the cacophony of detail you resign to the notion that it doesn't really matter. It's just wild. These are the kind of thoughts you're likely to have when you listen to Lyra Brown. There are things going on in the music and the mind that may never be fully understood. Some questions might never be resolved. Some epiphanies might shine through. She may not be Dali exactly but just as you see his paintings so too you will see the music of Lyra Brown.
 The depth of lyric belies the less than two decades she has had to develop her thoughts. Verses that should not be possible are carried sweetly by singular melodies. Images are subtle and dark and honest and quaint and whacked, vividly obscure and suitably disguised behind sky blue eyes and goofy laughs. Lyra Brown sings about life. ALL of it. From beginning to end with every delicious moment in between. As a writer Brown is fearless and she grows ever more so. As the world exposes itself to her, she exposes her world to you.
Words for Lyra Brown are like paints on a pallet. As she lays them out, mixes, blends, separates, swirls, drips, restrains and pours. How will they work together? Will they create rainbows or tar pits? We'll never know until she tries. Therein lies the beauty of the art and craft. Will it work? Try it! What if? Try it! That doesn't seem to work. Wait a while, maybe it will. Sometimes you just have to let the words get to know each other. Perhaps they are simply waiting for enough time to give themselves permission to meet. When they do, a tiny new world comes alive before your eyes.
And what of the music that carries these words? From where within Lyra Brown could it possibly come? Is it generations of hands that have never been more than moments away from a piano? Is it a voice that cannot pass an hour without unconsciously slipping into song? Is music a necessity of life like water, breath or love? Is it a philosophy ingrained in her existence more than any ism? A game. A tool. A drug? If you close your eyes you'll swear you can almost touch it.
 At 2 a.m. when you and I are sleeping, Lyra Brown sits down at her keyboard and plugs in her 4-track recorder. At 3 a.m. when you and I are dreaming another song has become reality. Maybe it's genius. Maybe it's crap. But the next day when she says she was up late again recording a new one the first thing you will say is, "Can I hear it?"
Whether it is beautiful or strange or beautifully strange, Lyra Brown has made a song where there wasn't one before. I think Dali would have been a fan.
|
