Limbo calling

Throwing Muses' ninth album proves they're far from finished

by Stephanie Zacharek

Throwing Muses' ninth major release (including a couple of EPs) is their most conventional-sounding one ever -- and that isn't a slam. Neither is it a sigh of relief that after a career of making albums that swerve at you from someplace just west of Jupiter, Throwing Muses have finally come to their senses. All it means is that Limbo (their first album for Rykodisc, due in stores August 13) sounds more relaxed than any other Muses album, as if it were trying less hard to make a statement with its own weirdness. And all the smart people making albums today know that's no longer necessary: now that the term alternative means nothing, weirdness is all too often just another uniform to wear, not something that creeps out of your bones.

The fact is, when Throwing Muses make an album that sounds almost normal, the effect is somehow stranger. The basics -- the qualities they've worked so hard on nurturing -- are there: fantastic sound textures, brainy craftsmanship, songwriting that engages you even as it confounds you. But at this point, you shouldn't know exactly what to expect from the Muses; that would be the death of them. What you get on Limbo is their particular brand of jangle pop now layered even more boldly with lonely Ennio Morricone-style guitars. And melodies that don't so much take angular jagged turns as wander sloping, lonely corridors. They're snaky and hummable, and if none of them is quite as memorable or wonderful as "Bright Yellow Gun" (off last year's University), they seem to have gotten their jump start from that song's supercharged battery.

David Narcizo's smartly spare drumming and the expansive thrumming of Bernard Georges's bass give the songs on the album a distinctive richness without cluttering them up, and leader Kristin Hersh's shimmery guitarwork conjures the dry, idle breeze before a dust storm, both comforting and packed with menace. Yet it's Hersh's voice that gives Limbo so much of its kick. In the early '80s, when she began her career here in New England, her voice bristled with an ethereal kind of savageness. Now, though it hasn't lost its prickly halo, it's much more muscular -- more feverish but also warm and sweet, a sugar cookie dipped in good Scotch.

It's Hersh's voice that gives her wayward lyrics 99 percent of their meaning (like psychotic butterflies, they're almost impossible to pin down). Her phrasing loops them into control like a cowboy's lasso, though sometimes it's only the way she lets them bump and jostle against one another that gives them meaning. On "Cowbirds," her ramshackle lines add up to a picture of how rough-and-tumble desire can be, unable to help itself despite all the best judgment in the world: "I think God dragged you out of a sunbeam/Only God dragged you out of a tree with me/I pulled you out of a snowbank, I think/You threw me out in the dirt, I heard/You pulled me out of a church to worship you."

Limbo also offers more humor than Throwing Muses usually allow themselves. On "Tango," Hersh unleashes crusty, understated sarcasm: "Thank you for chaining me to the bed, that was sweet." On "Ruthie's Knocking," which seems to be about a troubled neighbor who stops by for comfort and counsel a bit too often, Hersh sings, "Ruthie take a shower/I smell like a flower/Your cats smell better than you/Her cats are pretty cool." And later, she shows her exasperation at always having to provide words of wisdom with the simple line "My advice is twice what he's worth."

If Limbo isn't exactly a huge departure from the Muses' older work, it does reflect the band's slow, steady growth. Their characteristic ability to build layers of gleaming sonic texture, alternating neat, precise brush strokes of sound with lush, whirling ones, is more evolved than ever. On the mournful waltz-time ballad "Night Driving," guest Martin McCarrick's lush cello rubs up against Hersh's washed-bright guitar sound, like a cat scratching its back against a window screen. "Shark" builds into an exhilarating surf break of guitar sound, only to sail out on a ghostly driftwood echo. Limbo is proof that, nearly a dozen years into their career, Throwing Muses can still throw unexpected pleasures our way -- especially now that we think we know exactly what to expect from them.