Laura Glyda’s new album This Heart is a Machine revels in a bevy of singer/songwriter and pop influences stretching back nearly half a century. You’ll hear strands of Taylor Swift and the Indigo Girls, among others, running through her songwriting. The Chicago native’s chronicle of a failed marriage doesn’t broach new subject matter for popular song, many greats have traveled through similar artistic territory, but she stamps each of the release’s songs with unforgettable individuality. The successful synthesis of rock, Americana, and folk in Glyda’s guitar playing supplies the crowning touch for many of the album’s eight tracks, but it’s the heart that matters most.
INSTAGRAM: https://www.instagram.com/lauraglyda/?hl=en
She doesn’t waste any time revealing it to the audience. “A Beautiful Light” is painfully unadorned. Discreet musical touches enliven the composition, but the song’s core centers on her voice, sometimes double-tracked, and elegant piano playing. Her lyrical skill is clear. However, her obvious way with words never veers into heavy-handedness. Glyda’s restraint and well-chosen language help crystallize the emotions underlying each song. The rich musical warmth of “Whatever We’ve Done” contrasts with the unforgiving directness of Glyda’s lyrics. She doesn’t mince words, though her near-ethereal delivery sweetens the song’s dire messaging. Pairing piano and guitar in such an even-handed fashion has an almost magical effect on the song’s arrangement offering more than a glimmer of redemption.
“Take Only What You Need” recalls Joni Mitchell, in some respects, and mixing plaintive acoustic guitar with light percussion and keyboard color proves very effective. These songs sometimes have a gossamer-like quality; they sound like Glyda plucked them out of the ether rather than composing each one. However, the lyrics tether them to earth. “Bravery” ventures into top-shelf pop territory. She picks up the tempo, and the resulting energy helps give a sense of urgency to the performance lacking in some of its predecessors. The conversational quality of her words eschews a single extraneous line and shares thematic ground with the album’s other seven songs.
The delicate musicality of “The Garden” is one of This Heart is a Machine’s highlights. Listeners will hear it in the sensitive weaving of Glyda’s voice, guitar, and occasional pulsing bass. Her vocals are exquisite. This Heart is a Machine’s penultimate track, “The Wolf and the Lamb”, has a decidedly theatrical quality. However, this doesn’t mean it strikes a false note with listeners. It’s clearly designed as a crucial number for the collection, it’s the longest track and final adjudication of Glyda’s marriage and its aftermath. A spectral quality surrounds her voice. The electric guitar imbues the cut with a stormy quality missing from the earlier songs.
The title track opens with a heartbeat. It soon segues into Glyda’s customary fleet-fingered guitar playing, and she initially ties it into unusual percussion textures. The song settles into a more straightforward line of attack with steady drumming grounding the performance. This song represents a cleansing of sorts, a mission statement for the future, and the song’s optimism never sounds coy or delusional. It’s an invigorating finale for the album and a fine example of leave-taking from the pain and anguish characterizing so many of the preceding tracks. This Heart is a Machine is a worthwhile listen for anyone who values thoughtful and deeply musical songwriting.
Garth Thomas