--------------------------------- Motherland - CDNOW REVIEW (nov, 15, 2001) If you thought Ophelia, Natalie Merchant's 1998 solo record, was a downer, wait till you hear Motherland, the latest, and if possible, even more depressing offering from the former 10,000 Maniacs frontwoman. Like her two previous solo records, Merchant's stately gloom is the stuff of pretension and precision, and her serviceably beautiful voice comes off as either darkly charming or annoyingly lilting (sometimes both at the same time). Here, however, she benefits more from producer T. Bone Burnett's light touch than from previous producer Daniel Lanois' airy work; Burnett puts cold breezes in Merchant's normally honeyed voice, and he works in blues ("Put the Law on You"), bluegrass ("Saint Judas"), and even dub ("This House Is on Fire") riffs as Merchant explores the inner Southern gothic instincts she never knew she had. Merchant is still prone to the sort of precious behavior that borders on preening ("Ballad of Harvey Danger) and the AAA-ready singles ("Tell Yourself," "Just Can't Last") stuck at the end belie the heavy-handed aura of the rest of the album, but "Golden Boy" is a winner, a loping twilight ballad that may well be her best song ever. Brad Cawn CDNOW Contributing Writer ---------------------------------------------- MOTHERLAND - AMAZON WEBSITE REVIEW Just as Natalie Merchant donned a mythical persona for her last proper solo release, 1998's Ophelia, the buttery-voiced performer enjoys another stint as a quick-change artist on Motherland. From the trilling Middle Eastern flavor of opener "This House Is on Fire" to the evocative Latin classical guitar tones on "The Worst Thing," Merchant seems to enjoy pressing her steadfast, throaty vocals into new terrain as much as she does trying on dresses and high heels. While most of Motherland resides in the downtempo, ballad-heavy world that Ophelia did, most of the singer's diehard fans will appreciate her thoughtful phrasing and pastel soundscapes. There may not be fireworks, but the ex-10,000 Maniacs frontwoman knows her way around a sad song: "Golden Boy" excels as a wispy November poem, while she wiggles into torch-singer mode on "Put the Law on You." But the record's true standout is "Tell Yourself," an almost sprightly tune with sunny acoustics that resemble the Maniacs' "Don't Talk." Merchant may not be inherently comfortable in her own skin, but, like a salamander, she's excellent at transforming her surroundings without sacrificing her creative soul. --Kristy ------------------------------------- ------------------------------------ Observer: Natalie in Motherland Natalie Merchant casts a spell with social realism and barefoot dancing Burhan Wazir Sunday November 11, 2001 Natalie Merchant Electric Factory, Philadelphia Late evening, early winter, in Philadelphia. As the crowd at Natalie Merchant's concert leave the Electric Factory after a three-song encore, the dark-haired songwriter reappears onstage. 'I've had journalists ask me what it's like to be making music in the current climate,' she explains, 'so I'd like to play you a song written by a friend of mine.' Backed by her group, Merchant eases herself into 'The Gulf of Araby', an anti-war song by Irish singer Katell Keineg. Merchant barely reaches the first chorus before gasping, one hand raised to stifle several sobs. She proceeds again, but somewhere near the end her resolve crumbles and the tears flow. I'd met the beautifully bookish Merchant - previously singer with alternative radio favourites 10,000 Maniacs - earlier that afternoon. During the taxi drive through Philadelphia's West Side, she'd gazed up with wonder at the city's modest high-rises, reading inscriptions from historical stonework. Her mood darkened in the quiet anonymity of a local vegetarian Chinese restaurant, however. 'The war, it's a clash between two cultures, Islam and Christianity,' she says, thinking aloud. 'At least that's what Bush would have us believe. So you try and say something that emotes that. But the experiences on both sides of the world seem almost indescribable.' In fact, Merchant has been largely unique in her explanation of the 'indescribable' - love, life, war and death - in musical terms since 1979. That was the year she joined 10,000 Maniacs, a group partially jump-started to success in the early Nineties after Nirvana, Sonic Youth and R.E.M. led an assault on the mainstream. Since the demise of the Maniacs in 1993, Merchant has released two well-received solo collections (Tigerlily and Ophelia). Her songwriting is novelistic in scope, but she distinguishes herself from her contemporaries in that unlike, say, Tori Amos, her music is rarely otherworldly. Nor does she subscribe to the P.J. Harvey patent of multiple personalities. Merchant's latest album, Motherland, makes rich use of her sonorous, emotional well of a voice. On the title track, she resurrects the desolate lyricism of Woody Guthrie. Over a roots accompaniment, she sings: 'Where in hell can you go?/ Far from the things that you know/ Far from the sprawl of concrete that keeps crawling its way/ About a thousand miles a day.' On the same song, over a banjo-led chorus, she later mocks cheap nationalism: 'Motherland, cradle me/ Close my eyes, lullaby me to sleep/ Keep me safe, lie with me, stay beside me don't go/ Don't you go.' At the Electric Factory, Merchant runs through a set-list that spans her 14 years with 10,000 Maniacs, as well as all three solo records. Older songs like 'Hey, Jack Kerouac' and 'San Andreas Fault' benefit from the added instrumentation of two guitarists, a bass player, drummer and keyboards. But while she's quietly spoken - sometimes painfully so - Merchant's singing voice is a variety of luminous colours, from whisper to falsetto. And bolstered by the appreciative shouts of fans (she doesn't suffer from the kind of fanbase - stalkers, former psychiatric patients - that follows both Amos and Harvey), she slips and slides barefoot across the stage, kicking up the white hem of her black skirt. She's not a natural dancer - few singer-songwriters are - but what she lacks in physical geometrics she makes up for in old-school steps. Merchant's transformation from indie also-ran to social realist has been little short of remarkable. Only eight years ago, alongside the Maniacs, she was being described as an 'alternative' rock act - a glaring oversight, given the group's ease with both balladry and subtle political protest. And while Merchant's use of folk and rock signatures to make her point hasn't changed much, she is ecstatic about her current shift to the mainstream. In front of a largely college crowd in Philadelphia, she throws out choruses that are enthusiastically received and emotionally given. She leads us on the chorus to 'Kind & Generous' - 'sha-na-na na-na-na-na' - for several minutes, pointing at people at the front. 'Do you know the words?' she grins. But it's her invocation of war on 'The Gulf of Araby' that seals Merchant's reputation as a performer of considerable talent. Wiping away tears, she dashes offstage and the Electric Factory empties into a car park. Amid an indescribable silence. Natalie Merchant tours the UK next year. Motherland is released tomorrow on Elektra ------------------------------------------- Guardian Unlimited © Guardian Newspapers Limited 2001 Motherland'' (Elektra; dlrs 18.98) - Natalie Merchant She sounds harder, somehow - older, but angrier, too, almost sneering. Natalie Merchant's latest album pushes beyond her traditional melancholy and reveals a poet beaten down by life, defenses up. ``Motherland,'' filled with talk of avarice and decayed love and heavy loads, drifts in and out of genres - blues, gospel, even echoes of Elizabethan balladry in the ghostly, ``Eleanor Rigby''-like ``The Ballad of Henry Darger.'' Under Merchant's ministrations, ``Motherland'' bursts with loss, and she expresses it by alternating between insolence and regret. ``I know my place. Stick to my lines. Stay in your shadow,'' she spits in ``Golden Boy.'' Especially memorable is ``Tell Yourself,'' about a too-eager-to- please 13-year-old girl facing an indifferent world. Only one track, ``Not in This Life,'' evokes the seam of optimistic frothiness that popped up at so many junctures in her earlier work as lead singer for the 10,000 Maniacs. Except for one forgettable song, ``Just Can't Last,'' Merchant and her free-flowing lyrics are compelling as ever. She seems to be casting about for something. That she can't quite find it is sad, yes; but her minor-key desolation is the engine that makes ``Motherland'' move. Ted Anthony, AP Writer ----------------------------------- Entertainment Weekly Online Never the sunniest songwriter, Merchant develops a bout of the blues on this often exquisite minor-key outing. T Bone Burnett's scruff Americana production ( banjo, accordion, violin, and pump organ) compliments her neo-gothic tales of lost love, betrayal, and other crimes of the heart. These tunes don't have the big, melodic hooks of "Wonder" or "Jealousy" but that doesn't lessen their beauty - it just makes us listen harder to find it. Grade: B - Mark Bautz Eonline Review Motherland: B+ Has Natalie Merchant finally learned to relax? In the past, she has sounded more like a self-righteous schoolmarm than alt-folk singer. Not so here. "I don't have the gift of the prophesy, telling everybody how it's gonna be," she proclaims in the Arabic- flavored "This House Is on Fire," which opens this comforting, concerned and cathartic disc. Simpler, folkier and soothing on the ears, 20 years after her debut with 10,000 Maniacs, Merchant has achieved a lovely balance of art and craft. "Just Can't Last," may sound like a safe rehash of past successes, but just dive into that mid-album quartet of songs--from the vengeful woman blues of "Put the Law on You," to the chamber orchestra heartbreak of "Henry Darger"; it's easily her finest work ever. -------------------------------------------- Barnes & Noble These are the days for Natalie Merchant. With the release of her third solo studio disc, Motherland, the former 10,000 Maniacs vocalist has raised the bar and then some. Enlisting O Brother, Where Art Thou? producer T-Bone Burnett, the raven-haired singer has crafted a rootsy affair that places her singular voice -- a wonderful concoction of folksy earthiness and velvety allure -- front and center and then bathes it in a bluesy vibe. Burnett's invisible touch serves Merchant perfectly, providing a cushion of warm, organic arrangements that allow her newfound soulful delivery to thrive. Harnessing cameos from gospel queen Mavis Staples and '60s pop player Van Dyke Parks, he and Merchant ensure that all the musical ingredients here fall wonderfully into place -- particularly the breezy personal reflection "Not in This Life," the Middle Eastern- influenced, reggae-tinged opening track, "This House Is on Fire," and the tender, minimalist waltz of the title track. Lyrically, the songs are just as rewarding, with 12 poetic compositions that reference everything from Chicago's most famous janitor-cum-visual artist ("The Ballad of Henry Darger") to Merchant's response to horrific photographs of lynchings seen at a New York art exhibit ("Saint Judas"). Spirited and thoughtful, Motherland is Merchant's most powerful -- and best -- record yet. Gail O'Hara Album Credits Natalie Merchant Primary Artist Stephen Barber Conductor, Arranger Matt Chamberlain Drums, Percussion Mavis Staples Vocals Sandra Church Alto Flute Karen Dreyfus Viola Elizabeth Dyson Cello Bruno Eicher Violin Mitch Estrin Bass Clarinet Bob Glaub Bass Gabriel Gordon E-bow, Electric Guitar Tony Kadleck Trumpet Keefus Keyboards, Piano Lisa Kim Violin Guy Klucevsek Accordion David Krakauer Clarinet Greg Leisz 12-string Guitar, Acoustic Guitar, Banjo, Mandolin Graham Maby Bass Phillip Myers Horn Sandra Park Violin, String Contractor Van Dyke Parks Accordion Erik Della Penna Banjo, Bazouki, Classical Guitar, Electric Guitar, Lap Steel Guitar, Oud David Ralicke Baritone Saxophone, Tenor Saxophone, Trombone Laura Seaton Violin Sara Selver Cello Fiona Simon Violin Alan J. Stepansky Cello Patrick Warren Pump Organ, chamberlain Sharon Yamada Violin Paul Ackling Guitar Techician, Production Assistant Ryan Boesch Assistant Engineer Kevin Dean Assistant Engineer Jennifer Hilliard Assistant Engineer Bob Ludwig Mastering Brandon Mason Assistant Engineer Robert Read Assistant Engineer Jim Scott Engineer, Mixing Keith Shortreed Assistant Engineer Laura Wilson Photography ----------------------------------- PEOPLE MAGAZINE November 21, 2001 Motherland Natalie Merchant (Elektra) Since leaving 10,000 Maniacs in 1993, Natalie Merchant has seemingly come up with 10,000 social issues to sing about. This third solo outing is more music for the despondent. Racism, embattled self-esteem and love gone sour all make appearances here. Yet even when she tries to lighten things up musically on "Saint Judas," a rollicking, bluegrassy blend of softly strummed banjo and grinding guitars, the lyrics are about a lynching. She also missteps on a couple of neoclassical ballads, which just come off as strange. On the timely title track, though, Merchant's vigorous alto captures a sense of national yearning when she plaintively asks for someone to "cradle me, close my eyes/ Lullaby me to sleep." But it's the sardonic "Golden Boy" that shines brightest, as an acerbic Merchant rails against commercialism: "Heroes are born/ Idols are made/ We're all fools for this factory fame." Bottom Line: Eclectic and erratic ---------------------------- USA Today review Natalie Merchant, Motherland (3 Stars) It took a good man to drag Merchant, the most chaste and ethereal of pop stars, down to earth. That would be producer T Bone Burnett, whose roots-pop savvy has aided artists ranging from Elvis Costello to the bluegrass purists on the O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack. Merchant finds her niche in graceful ballads and gentle midtempo tracks that neither overwhelm her light, warm vocals nor evaporate into thin air. She doesn't seem at home in R&B territory; on the bluesy Saint Judas, she sounds like a poor man's Joan Osborne, even with the mighty Mavis Staples backing her up. But moody folk-pop nuggets such as Golden Boy and the title track showcase Merchant at her bittersweet best, proving she can retain her delicate dreaminess with her feet planted on the ground. — Gardner --------------------------------