Possessing no discernible reference to the mythical city of the same name Newsom has dropped an album that is just as enigmatic and shrouded in mysticism. After reading so many glowing reviews I felt enticed to pick up Ys and see what lay within and having not heard her debut, The Milk-Eyed Mender, I was not entirely sure what I would encounter. While the album spans a scant five tracks each song is often a sprawling epic that is at once minimal and dense, gilded with metaphors, allegories, and allusions that will leave a listener fretting for sometime at each song like they were tiny knots.

The trouble I have is that I want to love this album as an album but I’m not. Some might take exception to Newsom’s delivery style, a sort of breathy twitter punctuated by squeaks, however I do not since it seems to fit the material so well. Ys is more of a literary experience, one that is best enjoyed as a performance like the work of Shakespeare or studied like The Divine Comedy or Beowulf. The music of the album is regulated to the background, it is akin to the soft strumming of minstrel to help set the mood or provide moments of dramatic flair to the tale. Newsom fleshes out her work with her harp and songs are occasionally padded with soft string arrangements but both are unobtrusive never really rising above the lyrics which leaves me wanting, particularly given the length of each song which range from a brief seven minutes to one that strains at seventeen.

As literature I love Ys. Newsom proves herself to be both a deft poet and a nimble storyteller, drawing characters that are compelling and breathing life into them as she relates their tales. Take for instance the improbably love story of a monkey and bear who attempt to run away to live out the remainder of their lives together.

but still;
they have got to pay the bills
hadn’t they?
that is what the monkey’d say

so, with the courage of a clown, or a cur
or a kite, jerking tight at its tether
in her dun-brown gown of fur
and her jerkin’ of swansdown and leather

Bear would sway on her hind legs;
the organ would grind dregs of song, for the pleasure
of the children, who’d shriek
throwing coins at her feet
then recoiling in terror

sing, dance, darling
c’mon, will you dance, my darling?
oh darling, there’s a place for us
can we go, before I turn to dust?
oh my darling, there’s a place for us

Ys is ambitious and a very worthwhile experience as it pushes the boundaries of what people might consider the conventional forms of Folk music. Yet it is an exhausting listen as it demands your attention: miss a bar or a phrase and you could be hopelessly lost in the story. Highly recommended but with that caveat.

James Mathus, Jas Mathus, Jimbo “Hambone” Mathus, and Jimbo Mathus. Take your pick. Thankfully, the last name is consistent as Mathus apparently likes his nicknames, though, on some level it adds to the charm of his being some sort of errant Southern troubadour cloaked in fond memories of the dimming past of last century.

Old School Hot Wings sees him paired up with Knockdown South delivering a warm and intimate performance that mixes traditional numbers with covers and a handful of originals. There is nothing ground breaking about this album but the warmth that Mathus and his band imbue the songs with make it a worthwhile listen. The opener, “Voice of a Pork Chop”, is a lively toe-tapper that never fails to get me humming and my stomach rumbling though it is tempered by the stinging rebuke of “Wouldn’t Treat a Dog”, which rounds out the back half and leaves the listener wondering how much of the song is directed at his ex-wife.

If you’re looking for music to pair with some sipping whiskey or something that conjurs up humid nights sprawled on the front steps then Old School Hot Wings is the perfect choice. Head over to his Myspace page to stream and download three songs from this album. Highly recommended.