Review Summary: “if I lost you I'd be loose, like crying strings…like how a river moves.”
Initially, Robin Bacior’s intentions on
Water Dreams can be a rather elusive concept to wrap one’s head around. I’ve listened to the album countless times since discovering it, and I’m still not completely sure what it is about this particular piece that keeps drawing me back in. It isn’t the most memorable record in the kitschy pop sense of the word, but that was obviously never its aim. Atmospherically, it’s engorging but entirely wayward – simply refusing to adhere to a consistent structure. One might chalk it up to inadequate songwriting, but with a title like
Water Dreams, the album’s drifting nature is almost certainly deliberate. In the end, it’s hard to know whether I should hate this album for its inability to lodge one single melody in my brain, or applaud it for its disobedience.
Water Dreams seems to have no idea where it wants to end up . Maybe
that’s the point.
Somewhere between the old-fashioned rural leanings of a band like Horse Feathers and the sullen but equally stunning vocals of a Sharon Van Etten exists the non-household name Robin Bacior – and this confounded, beautiful mess of a record. Although
Water Dreams emanates quaint folkish simplicity, what with its omnipresent classical piano notes and fervent cello cuts, it is actually deceptively complex. Take the opener ‘Your Best Advice’, a twisting, turning classically-influenced ballad, as a case-in-point. The song begins lightly, with bouncy minor keys that are gradually joined by the aforementioned cello. For the vast majority of its runtime, it seems like a pretty typical ballad by a pretty typical songstress. Then, four and a half minutes in, it completely sideswipes you with crashing percussion, and the once soft-spoken cello erupts into a whirlwind of passion and urgency. It’s the kind of moment that makes you realize you’re not in for another run-of-the-mill singer/songwriter exercise, and it is a message that is echoed throughout
Water Dreams. No, not every track possesses a blockbuster plot twist, but whenever the album’s soothing ambiance lulls you into a sense of security, that’s exactly when you can expect it to turn itself sideways, keeping you on your toes while demanding your full attention.
Vocally, Bacior is limber enough to wrap her voice around the ever winding instrumental progressions. However, she is also authoritative enough to alter a song singlehandedly. It’s this rare blend of power and elegance –as well as her ability to showcase it/reign it in at will – that makes
Water Dreams such an impactful experience despite its wandering nature. Bacior disappears just as easily as she takes control, making her a permeable entity who is at one with her music…floating around like she’s actually in some type of “water dream.” The way she vocally conveys the album’s concept goes a long way in giving it shape, as the music flows freely and unrestrained by redundant song structures. Thus, even as
Water Dreams appears to meander, it certainly is not without purpose. Or as Robin so passionately sings on the album’s second track, “if I lost you I'd be loose, like crying strings…like how a river moves.” It’s actually lyrics like these that lend the album all of the depth and emotion that stirs behind the music. Most of her songs deal with isolation, loneliness, and heartbreak. The previous quote is evidence enough, but it hardly stops there. On ‘If It Does’, she laments “It's delusional dreaming, cold blooded reason…all of it keeping me barely believing.” At one point on the mysterious penultimate track ‘Headless Sheep’, she sings, “This left empty seat beside sings of what we’ve made / I am lost in the sound…and I think of you back on ground.” It isn’t until one starts to truly pay attention to what Bacior is saying, amidst the sprawling and changing atmospheres, that everything about
Water Dreams clicks. It’s an album that doesn’t know where it’s headed because neither does she. It lacks consistency and structure because perhaps someone left her life in shambles. It keeps you on your toes and turns you upside down because that's exactly what life does. It is as unpredictable as dropping a leaf in a river and trying to guess where it’ll end up.
Water Dreams is a challenging album that is rich with influences that range from folk to classical to pop. It’s a piece that is best experienced in the moment, perhaps with headphones on a bus – or maybe by the fire on a cold winter night. It is full of evocative imagery and symbolism, as the instrumentation mimicks various bodies of water – some slow, shimmering, and reflective…others rushing, cold, and cruel. To take Bacior's music at face value or try to evaluate it objectively is to do the album – and yourself – a disservice.
Water Dreams isn’t a record that beckons for you to return to it frequently; it lacks the qualities that most value to make it an appreciably “memorable” musical occurrence. It's a record about being in the moment, drifting from one place to another and coming to terms with the fact that more often than not, life doesn't go in the direction you'd expect. In moments such as those,
Water Dreams fits like a warm glove.
