Gillian Grassie writes catchy,
intellectually-stimulating pop and folk-rock songs. She sounds like a
classically-trained opera singer trying her hand at jazz—and
succeeding. She plays the harp.
Spotlight On: Gillian Grassie
Gillian Grassie writes catchy,
intellectually-stimulating pop and folk-rock songs. She sounds like a
classically-trained opera singer trying her hand at jazz—and
succeeding. She plays the harp.
Yes, you read all of that correctly.
The
Philadelphia-based singer/songwriter/harpist (ahem) has two
self-released records, both of which benefit from the substantial
talents of producer/multi-instrumentalist Tim Sonnefeld. But Gillian is
always the star of the show. She makes her harp sound at times like a
piano and at other times like a guitar, but her playing is so naturally
graceful that these auditory metamorphoses never sound forced. Her
lucid voice is capable of conveying a wide range of emotions without
ever losing its character.
Here is the breakdown of her two releases:
To An Unwitting Muse
(EP, 2005): There are some moments when the songwriting could use a
little tweaking or when Gillian’s vocals get a tad overdramatic. But
overall, this is an impressive debut, especially when one considers
that Gillian was barely 19 years old when it was released. The
delightfully Celtic “Steps” is an exemplary piece of contemporary
folk-rock songwriting, while “Oceans” includes the startling
confession, “Women are like oceans, as whimsical as tides/They swell up
with emotions and then forever change their minds.” The wonderful “Mr.
Houdini” stands in a class all its own as the only harp-driven,
psychedelic pop-jazz song ever to contain the word “erotomaniac.” At
least I think it’s the only one....
Serpentine
(full-length album, 2007): This album reveals itself in new ways with
each listen, and clocking in at 37 minutes, it avoids the two-headed
evil of being either too short or too long. “No Answer” kicks off the
album in high style, Gillian opening with some echoed harp and an Erin
McKeown-styled vocal before the track evolves into a distinctive slice
of Triple-A heaven. “No answer is an answer; it’s just not the one you
were waiting for.” “Pulse” exemplifies the principle of beautiful
dissonance, whereas “Silken String” isn’t dissonant—just beautiful. The
chilling “Tamlin” references classic folklore and literature, but you
needn’t understand the allusions to be emotionally devastated by this
heartbreaking masterpiece. The album closes with the pensive lullaby
“The Train,” one of Gillian’s most haunting compositions. Not
everything is wonderful; the graphic, stream-of-consciousness lyrics of
“Tell Me” are not for the squeamish, and though the politically-charged
“Sweet Metallic” has noble intentions, it could stand to be more
focused both lyrically and sonically. But I hate to complain about such
a likable album. After all, choosing the “worst song” on Serpentine makes as much sense as picking out the “fattest woman” in a room full of Victoria’s Secret models.