The main purpose of a college degree in songwriting is not to teach you how to become a songwriter but to provide budding writers the time and facilities to hone their craft. And for any aspiring artist working towards such a degree, that means constantly woodshedding. Not everyone who leaves these programs in songwriting, creative writing, composing and the like becomes the Next Big Thing, but every so often one of these schools cranks out a talent like Laney Jones.
Jones, a graduate of Berklee College of Music, never sounds like she was forged in the bubble of Advanced Songwriting 1. What is apparent is that Jones has really studied the craft, and that means knowing how to write a hook, how to turn a musical phrase, and how to use the studio as a primary instrument. None of those criteria sound particularly novel, but in a market saturated with unexceptional indie folk singer-songwriters, Jones stands out as a musician who can both pen a pop song and subvert expectations.
Working with Grammy-nominated producer David Plakon, Jones showcases her songwriting chops and arranging skills throughout the entirety of the album. There are nods to early-career Wilco as well as Karen Elson, but unlike Elson’s work, Jones foregoes the vintage Third Man sound and opts instead for lush instrumentation and hi-fi clarity. Thanks to Plakon and the stellar musicians who serve in Jones’ band, the album sounds out of time. There is even a song on here called “Firewalk” that seems to reference Twin Peaks, David Lynch’s masterpiece of dreamy atemporality, and listening to Jones’ album provides transport to a world where current trends in pop music are not allowed.
That sentiment rings true for every song except the two obvious singles – “Allston (Dance Around)” and “Work It Out.” You can’t fault a musician for watering down her sound to achieve the glory of writing a solid earworm or two, but both songs cannot measure up to a track like “The Simple Truth,” a slow-burning country tune that erupts in the most memorable mandolin solo I have ever heard. Or even “Bad Luck Charm,” with that early-2000s Wilco groove and just as many hooks as the singles. Thankfully, these latter moments outnumber the weaker tracks.
Jones’ greatest strength lies not only in her ability to craft tight song structures and melodies but also in her willingness to let her band and producer experiment along with her. Right from the beginning, nothing is typical. Opener “Do What You Want” features vibraphone, dirty electric piano, slow shaker, droopy slide guitar, and percussion straight out of a carnival sideshow. If this sounds a bit like Tom Waits, then take another listen to “Firewalk” with its goose-honking saxophones and drunken melodic line that starts and stops at all the right moments. It is definitely the instrumental highlight and places Jones in the lineage of gothic experimenters like Waits.
Jones cleverly ends her album with “Endless Summer,” in which she sings of a place “to escape the constant worry,” and for the first two-thirds of the song it scans as a relaxed beach tune until a wave of noise swells from beneath Jones’ repeating mantra (“I know happiness lives in endless summer”). The banjo begins to detune, and the juxtaposition of Jones’ near-mindless sentiment clashes with this moody, creeping drone. By the end, the noise levels out, and the track concludes with a final chord. The trick is pulled off effortlessly and illustrates Jones’ knack for manipulating expectations.
Jones is a sharp writer with a well-trained ear, and her self-titled album is a laser-focused effort. She may not be average enough for mainstream folk, but of course this is a good thing. Now that Fleet Foxes and Bon Iver have seemingly called it quits, the space is open for an indie folk presence with a penchant for experimentation. Laney Jones may be that presence.