The good news is, theyyyyyy’re still Maggie and Terre and Suz-zy, those intricate sisterly harmonies intact after a ten-year hiatus. They’re still interspersing dark, personal songs with wackiness, which probably goes over real well in their live show.
The bad news is…well, for all its virtues, I’m not sure I want to listen to Moonswept again. There’s something — if I may be forgiven such a girly term — icky about it. Icky and cute, which isn’t such a great combination.
The cute is easily disposed of. There’s the old ’50s song “The Naughty Lady Of Shady Lane”, which hasn’t worn well, and there are two songs by a New York songwriter named Paranoid Larry, who would seem to be an acquired taste. “Jesus Shaves” is sweet enough, but “No Shoes”, a reductio ad absurdem of the old “I had no shoes, and I complained until I met a man who had no feet” trope, goes on well past the point of irritation.
But the personal stuff…wow. There have always been backstories to a lot of the Roches’ songs, but they transcended them. For instance, “The Hammond Song”, from their first album, dealt with making difficult choices, and you didn’t have to know that it was about leaving friends to go to a spiritual retreat in Louisiana for it to work.
That layer of art is missing on too many of the songs here. “September 11th At The Shambhala Center” might have worked better without that title, but I’m not sure “Stop Performing” or “Piggy Mask” could be saved. And daughter Lucy Wainwright Roche drops in for “Long Before”, which is entirely too bitter for her lovely voice. On too much of this material, the gorgeous singing is like a rich layer of chocolate over a piece of raw liver. Icky. And not something you want another bite of.
