Sara Bareilles sings “Manhattan” with heavy exhaustion, like a woman beaten down by the marathon she’s just finished. “You can have Manhattan, I know it’s for the best,” she exhales, over a dark, slow-moving piano, redolent of the early, elegantly pugnacious Billy Joel. “I’ll gather up the avenues and leave them on your doorstep/And I’ll tiptoe away so you won’t have to say you heard me leave.” She’s not snide or colorfully melodramatic — just spent.
That’s the fourth song on “The Blessed Unrest,” her new album, and it speaks loudly. It especially shouts down the songs that precede it, which — including the single “Brave” — are booming and jangly, songs that announce in scale what Ms. Bareilles’s sweet and sometimes nervy voice doesn’t always do on its own.
Still, it’s a surprise that Ms. Bareilles’s best song on this album is her most morose. She’s never matched the pep of her 2007 debut single, “Love Song,” a song about what sort of song she’s unwilling to write. That theme — writing about writing — re-emerges on the first couple of songs of this album, like an early college writing experiment
The album is suffused with that kind of seriousness — not the emotional sort, as on “Manhattan,” but the stylistic sort. Worse, “The Blessed Unrest” isn’t as smilingly eclectic as her better earlier work, especially the often masterly “Kaleidoscope Heart,” from 2010. Those albums bore traces of cabaret, girl-group pop, college a cappella groups — a whole host of future karaoke repertory — and were built around Ms. Bareilles’s good cheer, which buoys her even in down moods.
By contrast, “The Blessed Unrest” is all shoulder-drooping heft, and her musical choices are vexing. On “Hercules,” she’s Fiona Apple manquée, and barely that; “Eden” conveys early Madonna, of all things; and “Islands” suggests that Enya may have popped up on Ms. Bareilles’s iTunes shuffle with some regularity.
Ms. Bareilles is hiding behind styles that aren’t her own. Only on “Little Black Dress” does that strategy pay off. It sounds like an Amy Winehouse sketch, with a zippy horn-led arrangement. Vocally, Ms. Bareilles sounds bright, too, and comfortable — doing her familiar trick of making the melancholy chirp.
Read more: http://www.nytimes.com/2013/07/16/arts/music/sara-bareilles-george-duke-and-ace-hood.html?_r=0
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