The post can bring its load of sad news and happy surprises. I was delighted to trade my bills for an unknown envelope containing a beautifully designed album cover, an intimate moment captured on a black & white picture, and a title like a whispered invitation: Befriended.
The Innocence Mission are the antithesis to the rock personae that usually send the Critical Machine in raving mode: replace young cynical & sexy creatures by a middle-aged Christian couple from Pennsylvania, and you'll get the picture. Actually, you won't. If the Vatican had suddenly changed tactics and realised the shortcomings of a strategy based on bible bashing and Boy Scout righteous joviality, it couldn't have done better than promote the work of The Innocence Mission. Fortunately, only a born-again Devil would have the wits to mastermind such a plan, leaving the Catholic Church willing to sell its soul to regain such qualities as those displayed on Befriended: simplicity, purity, beauty.
Karen Peris' voice is instrumental in converting the listener to The Innocence Mission. And let there be no mistake: her voice is delightful not because it fits the preconceived parameters of an angel's voice, staccato-legato diva forays into the upper end of the scale, but rather because it recalls the very essence of humanity through its marvellous physical presence, making you feel as if hearing had turned into a sense as potent as touch.
The simple acoustic arrangements serve her voice beautifully, and the discreet lyrics encourage the reverie the melody leads us into. The songs inspire melancholy and sweet indolence, and make you long for a time when you were tucked in bed and lulled to sleep. And there lies the album's possible weakness: for the songs tend to blend into each other, and indolence sometimes feels like overload.
Mazzy Star, to whom The Innocence Mission sometimes get compared to, once sang at an Inrockuptibles festival in Paris and got booed off stage. I still haven't worked out which feeling then took over, the excruciating experience of witnessing an artist breaking down on stage and walking out crying, or the prospect of an imminent death by meltdown had I gone through another minute of the set. This may sound harsh. The advantage with a CD is that you can zap forward or program it on songs 1, 2, 7 or 10, forget its flaws, and enjoy its qualities.
I consider calling an album "good" an act of faith, as it implies belief in individual song perfection and overall independent coherence. In other words, it implies belief in the impossible. And I am not so cynical as to expect miracles from The Innocence Mission. But it would be an artistic crime to overlook some of Befriended's songs, which make it all worthwhile. "When Mac was swimming" is a pleasant surprise, starting like a classic Carol King and then taking off in a complete different direction, where we are indeed ready to believe that "the sun is coming up". "No storms to come" is an endearing arrangement of Gerard Manley Hopkins' mystical poetry, a cold winter ditty with a haunting attic piano. "Look for me as you go by" welcomes Don Peris' harmonies, which espouse Karen's voice and blossom in a beautiful upbeat finish. But with its reminiscence of Harry Nilsson's "Everybody's talkin'" finger-picking, its hypnotic melody and natural harmonics like so many dots of lights beaconing the song to its landing, "Tomorrow on the Runway" is undoubtedly the highlight of an album well worth a listen.
Innocence Mission Befriended
