Jessica Pratt: Quiet Signs

The worst assumption you can make going into Jessica Pratt’s Quiet Signs is that there won’t be much there, that minimalism isn’t for you. Knowing the folk singer/songwriter’s aversion to bells and whistles (and taking into consideration the album’s telling title), I myself feared a hollowness, but I was delighted to find the singer/songwriter somehow brings a maximalist energy to a record so subdued you’ll refrain from speaking during its quivering 27 minutes, for fear of disturbing the peace. Quiet Signs is a convincing argument for simplicity.
Pratt has a very, very restrained way of supplying strength and relief during our hectic moment. Her songs are so quiet they almost don’t even exist, but maybe that’s how we need to feel for just a moment—like we’re just air. The “Quiet Signs” on this album each yield their own kind of suspended calm: The first, “Opening Night,” is a beautiful 90-second piano ballad that would fit right in on the score of some early 20th century period piece; “Poly Blue” is a hypnotic dreamscape of strums; “Silent Song,” reminiscent of its title, is a whispered fairytale. Impatient listeners, beware: These tracks aren’t immediately satisfactory. They emit tranquility only if you’re willing to devote your full attention—and perhaps repeated listens.