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Julia Holter, "Ekstasis"
As Julia Holter's second full-length in less than 8 months, Ekstasis has a good deal of anticipation on its shoulders. Last year's Tragedy was her big splash into the experimental music pond, packed with high-brow conceptualism that made perfect sense given her academic background in electronic composition. On Ekstasis, Holter steps into the spotlight with an entirely different take on her sound.
In the same way Tragedy was Julia Holter's big artistic statement, Ekstasis is her big pop statement—a sprightly collection of ten crystalline, melodic, easily approachable songs. One listen to both albums back-to-back, and the differences are stark: with Ekstasis, Holter sands off the rough edges from Tragedy's labyrinthine song structures, obtuse drone and instrumental passages, and near-complete lack of earworm hooks. Given that I consider Art and Pop to be complimentary facets of the same gem ("Art Pop"), Ekstasis sounds like a natural extension of Holter's talents, if a surprising left turn given how difficult a listen Tragedy could be at times.
Ekstasis is centered on Holter's layered vocals and fluid, melodic keyboard playing. Nearly every song has a passage that is catchy, immediately hummable. Ambient sounds are now folded into traditional song structures, rather than featured in equal or greater measure to pop moments. Instruments that were prominently featured on Tragedy, like saxophone, are pared back to emphasize Holter's keyboard and vocal prowess, which is accentuated by her current three-piece live setup. (NPR recently streamed her debut NYC performance live from Le Poisson Rouge; I'll admit to tuning in from Texas and being utterly transfixed.) In short, Ekstasis is easy to love from the first spin; there is no steep listening curve. For anyone new to Holter's music, this is an obvious entry point into her sound-world.
Sequencing is key; Holter kicks off the album with three of its strongest melodies. "Marienbad" opens with her voice layered onto itself in a deceptively simple melodic sequence, as delicate as tiptoeing in fresh snow. When the full melody unfolds at the two-minute mark, it feels like watching a time-lapse video of a flower blooming in third grade science class—a cycle of beauty coming and going with each day's sun. Trumpets accent the song's stately charm. "Our Sorrows" lives up to its name, with its central melody more resigned, sorrowful, like a sigh transmitted onto sheet music. "In the Same Room" is one of the album's most lovable pieces, segueing into the mostly instrumental "Boy in the Moon" and vaguely Eastern-tinged "Für Felix" to close out the album's first half.
Side two begins with an initial reprise of Tragedy's great centerpiece, "Goddess Eyes," reframed in a choral music context, as if sung by a small choir comprised entirely of Holters. After floating through two more ambient pop gems, including the glimmering, underneath-the-stars glow of "Moni Mon Amie," "Goddess Eyes" is again reprised, this time sounding more like the vocoder-ized version from Tragedy. In its two appearances on Ekstasis, however, its context among other straightforward songs on a pop-leaning album makes it less of a focal point than on Tragedy. While "Goddess Eyes" is essentially one catchy refrain played out to lovely effect, there are stronger songs on Ekstasis. By my judgment, "Four Gardens" and "In the Same Room" are knockouts by comparison; if they don't contain quite as memorable a single lyric ("I can see you, but my eyes are not allowed to cry"), they make up for it in sheer melodic content and overwhelming emotional pull.
There are no ambitious underpinnings like on Tragedy, which based its song cycle on Euripedes' ancient Greek play Hippolytus—a bit overly conceptual for my tastes. Because of its sequencing, which leans toward melody at the start, then intersperses key passages of ambience within the songs' melodic centers (and vice versa), Ekstasis feels like it has a natural start, middle, and end, like the narrative arc of a novel. It's not terribly difficult to find reference points for what Holter is doing with her music, yet it feels utterly fresh, like she's combined elements of so much music that I love—Kate Bush's most abstract work, Cocteau Twins, Broadcast (R.I.P.), Stars of the Lid, Grouper's rare sun-kissed moments, Julianna Barwick, Mark Hollis' one perfect solo album—and fashioned them into her own distinct sound. (I'm sure Holter would cite entirely different reference points if pressed, but that's my two cents.) Ekstasis is a major step for Holter—perhaps not a step forward or backward, but a sidestep, a bold change in direction; an impressive move in today's fickle musical landscape.
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