The Woods Got To Know Angela Faye Martin
Now It's Our Turn

There are several seconds of silence before the first desolate, foreboding electric guitar chords of the opening song, "Strawberry Roan," rumble forth, forming a simple instrumental mantra sounding like something suited for a procession of wounded soldiers staggering across a charred, smoldering landscape in the aftermath of a terrible battle. A nearly buried pulse throbs hurriedly in the underbrush, while odd, barely-audible noises scurry in and out of the mix like the skittish movement of rats. Then around 25 seconds in, her voice creeps in, sweet and soft but distorted freakishly, like a spirit or signal that keeps going in and out of range. Heard in song, the words flutter and curl themselves into the sound. Written down they read like some centuries-old poem, creepy and evocative.

Burning you into the hearts of men
I'll spiderweb their wounds
The spell will hypnotize their kin
And haunt all their dining rooms

There is no chorus, no solo, no break. It just skulks along for three and a half minutes, painting a scene you're not truly sure what about, but man, it holds your notice and sinks its spell deep inside, letting you know that things are stranger here than you expected.

The rest of Pictures From Home, the full-length debut from Angela Faye Martin, isn't always so eerie, but if anything, its pull on you grows firmer as it proceeds. The title track chugs along at a crisp pace, its dirty grooves contrasting with her pretty voice to create an irresistible mutant pop song. There are acoustic folk tunes informed by the Appalachian heritage of Ms. Martin and producer Mark Linkous (Sparklehorse), with sonic atmosphere added by the latter. "No One Can Wake You" is just plain lovely, one of the most exquisite songs you'll hear this year. "Widow's Lament" sounds sung by a ghost. Etcetera. You get the idea. Martin's lyrics are unusually poetic, their descriptions vivid but ultimate meanings often left to the listener's own interpretation. Her voice is heavenly, occasionally spooky, glistening and moving on top of these songs like the surface of moonlit water while creatures mutter and chirp in the distance. Throughout, the intuitive influence of Linkous, who plays multiple instruments and basically could be credited as collaborator, gives the whole thing a weird but not off-putting vibe, like you're hearing these songs in somebody's dream, perhaps your own, but you can still smell the pine.

Angela Faye Martin is a supremely unique and creative musician and songwriter in the vein of Kristin Hersh or Lisa Germano. So why hadn't I heard of her before now? Turns out I had. I just wasn't paying attention. And perhaps, she just wasn't ready.