by Steven Devadanam
Staff Writer
Lori Carson speaks the language of pillow whispers and red wine. Like a lover who leaves before morning, she's an innocent temptress who leaves a mark that's too hard to shake. Breathily haunting, she's a little girl with bedroom eyes and a tight red dress.
So it's fitting that her latest release, Everything I Touch Runs Wild, was recorded in her New York City apartment, namely her bedroom. If her album conjures up images of candle-lit walls or curtains from an open window blowing over an unmade bed, it's merely reflecting its birthplace.
Everything I Touch Runs Wild stays firmly in place, never deviating from its delicately imperfect, acoustic feel. Initially, the album is so quiet it's as if Carson was recording the album while trying not to wake the neighbors. Pop-mongers will grow impatient, waiting for a change in dynamics that never comes. Indeed, the only remotely danceable tune is the album's first single, "Something's Got Me," a subtle throb of a number that showcases Carson's sly eroticism.
Unlike the trend of her female contemporaries, Carson is not in-your-face. Rather, she makes you swallow her jagged little pill with a gulp of Moet and a back massage. She'll tell you about her abusive ex-boyfriend ("Whole Heart") and her darkest fantasies even if she's thinks she's flirting with madness ("Train"), but if you so much as answer the phone, you'll miss it all.
"Train" is a standout, mainly because it's a psychological whirlwind that's barely audible. Carson spins a murky, ethereal tale, admitting, "People look at me cross-eyed and I know I've really lost my mind/Everybody's a little too kind, a little too blind." She muses throughout a sophisticated panic attack, maintaining the swirling tension in a breathy whisper.
But rather than slit her wrists, she picks up a guitar. However ghostly her material, Carson doesn't take herself too seriously. She's bitingly honest, but in control. If her heart is bleeding, it's at the pace of dripping honey, and she rides the balance between cliché and poignancy alarmingly well.
Supporting a coarse daydream of an album, Carson promises the sensuality of Jewel and the grit of Suzanne Vega wrapped up in a sultry whisper that winks at you before saying goodnight. If only we could all be this sexy when we're depressed.
Carson will be performing tonight at the Urban Art Bar, 112 Milam. Tickets are $1.07. Call 225-0500 for more information.