A Girl Called Eddy

Things we’ve come to expect from Epitaph Records: loud, aggressive and often political punk rock with grinding guitars, harsh vocals and beats delivered at break-neck speeds. Or Tom Waits. In short however, not A Girl Called Eddy. Amid sleepy tempos, ethereal keys, strings and horn charts, A Girl Called Eddy’s (nee Erin Moran) delicate vocals hang suspended like icicles just below a lake’s surface. To date, no act on their roster so clearly defines the term "anti” as compared to its parent Epitaph. Like a modern day Carole King or Stevie Nicks, Erin Moran sighs her way through 11 tracks of death, disease, divorce and working lousy jobs. The songs laze their way into a groove that hasn’t been prevalent in pop music in about 25 years. The slower, vintage tempos serve Moran well and offer up delicate tones to complement the vocals, rather than drown them. Songs like "Tears All Over Town,” "Somebody Hurt You,” and the true-to-its-title, "Heartache,” all manage a mercurial majesty courtesy of the meticulously defined instrumentation and crystal clear production of former Pulp henchman Richard Hawley. Everything on A Girl Called Eddy harbours shadows of the past, but when it gets filtered through a post-alternative system, all of the old studio tricks and time-honoured subject matter add up to a new voice in the current musical landscape. It’s guaranteed that you haven’t heard a record like A Girl Called Eddy in a very long time but hopefully we’ll be hearing more.