Martha Wainwright

The daughter of Loudon Wainwright III and Kate McGarrigle and the younger sister of orchestral pop sensation Rufus, Martha Wainwright's lineage alone would seem a bit of a double-edged sword that most musical artists would be hard-pressed to lift, let alone carry. On the one hand, her family's catalog of exceptional songs casts a rather long artistic shadow. On the other, the 23-year-old Wainwright was already well ahead of the curve by the time she released her own debut recording. As it turned out, nothing about her eponymous EP suggests anything other than a monumentally talented songwriter and assured performer regardless of any peripheral consideration, although the album leaves the tantalizing suspicion that you are listening to a woman who has not even begun to tap the wellspring of a vast creativity. Wainwright was not exactly new to a studio, and it shows through in her poised, relaxed performances on the album's six songs. Her voice is an instrument to behold: nonchalant some moments with an infectious, quasi-chanteuse drawl, guilelessly sweet at others, but always beguiling, with an equal propensity for brashness and an almost bashful naiveté. She pulls together a smoldering variation of early pop, light jazz, and, particularly, folk and folk-rock with a bohemian sense of performance presence that hints at the autobiographical but never gives you the sense that it is confessional. There is no way to discern for certain, outside the obvious sibling references in the sweet and endearing paean of "Laurel & Hardy" and the odd line throughout ("sometimes I feel like my Dad/for leaving her sad and alone/in this big house," from "Jimi (Takes So Much Time)") whether Wainwright is singing from her own life or inventing lives to sing about, and that is one of the wonders of her songwriting. There is separation in the music, characters, and experiences that transcend self-- or seem to do so -- thus giving listeners more access to the music. Instead of peaking at diary entries, they are reading short stories. Occasionally her lyrics are awkward, but even more often she splashes songs with fabulous wit ("you are so very thin and I've always wanted to fit into your pants," she sings to her brother). If some of the other songs sometimes come across as baby steps, the final cut, "Don't Forget," is where all of Wainwright's immense potential coalesces into glorious, timeless pop. Her lyrics are married to her emotions ("I'll put on my hat, my gloves, my scarf/to keep the cold apart/But there are not hats, gloves, scarves for the heart") as well as her poignant idealism ("in my silly mind I've gotten married to you") with perfect poetic resonance. There is something both world-weary and innocent about the song, both ebullient and sorrowful, and it is affecting on a deep level -- almost as deep as Wainwright's bottomless talent. ~ Stanton Swihart, All Music Guide