Erin McKeown
Manifestra
Reviewed by Michele Zipkin
Manifestra may be Erin McKeown’s most powerful album to date. Through this collection of songs that comprise her seventh studio album she conveys, quite pointedly and poetically, a variety of political and personal standpoints that illuminate injustice just as well as empowerment. This record deviates from some of her previous efforts, like We Will Become Like Birds, or Sing Your Sinners, not only in lyrical content, but also because this album was funded entirely by fans. In Manifestra, Mckeown’s diversity in rhythm, riff and style is interesting and refreshing. Her affinity for and knowledge of multiple genres can certainly be heard on this lyrically potent and instrumentally creative record. We hear on this album lush strings led by Joseph Brent and horns arranged by Matt Douglas, as well as vocals from Polly Paulusma, Ryan Montbleau, Sean Hayes, Anais Mitchell, and David Wax Museum.
The record starts off with “The Politician”, which hits you like a slap in the face with a drum pick-up and guitar hit to open the song. The tune provides sardonic commentary on the deception and moral ambiguity of double-timing politicians. Shortly after, “In God We Trust” seems to hint at the use of religion in leveraging political agenda, through slightly hip-hop-driven percussion and a post-punk vibe in the vocals and guitar.
“Jailer” is one of the tracks that stands out not only due to it’s rockin’, bluesy guitar riff and snappy percussion, but also because of the story it tells. McKeown makes such poignant commentary on immigration and how our country is set on division and at times brutality. According to an interview McKeown did with NPR’s Bob Boilen, inspiration for the song came partially when she took a trip to Arizona and saw the wall being erected between the US and Mexico. In her eyes the wall symbolized violence, and she further examines this point by singing not just about the America’s violent stance toward other cultures, but about the toll this action takes on the one who “drops the blade”. This idea is best conveyed through the line “When we hang another man, part of us dies with him.” On a completely different note, instrumentally speaking, those saxophone and guitar lines are pretty bad-ass.
The title track of this oeuvre has McKeown speak-singing over a hot little blues lick, very eloquent and fairly symbolic lyrics that seem to suggest the myriad difficulties that one inevitably faces just by living in society, being different, and struggling with acceptance. But despite singing about this boulder that we are constantly pushing up the mountain, McKeown also speaks of hope and thankfulness, as in the line “Everyday, give me the strength of a thousand beams.”
“Baghdad to Bayou” swims in the tradition of New Orleans-inspired music with its bass line teetering on the first and fifth scale degrees. It is a lyrical collaboration with TV commentator and journalist Rachel Maddow, and focuses on the injustices of American foreign policy and internal politics, from Baghdad to the Deepwater Horizon oil spill. In this song, sung in part by Anais Mitchell and Sean Hayes, McKeown uncovers stories of lives that have been lost or jeopardized for the sake of monetary gain. But in exposing numerous injustices, there’s still a hint of optimism and opposition here, when Mitchell sings “You can’t stop the people when people start to sing.”
The sweet, saucy, jazzy and at times abrasive instrumentals put McKeown’s very politically urgent messages against a landscape that makes them even more pressing than if they stood alone as prose. Each listen can reveal something new about the stories behind these songs.
