Thalia Zedek

Liars and Prayers
Thrill Jockey

Of all the now-defunct higher-profile indie rock bands of the ’90s, I think I miss Come the most. Royal Trux seemed to have completed their mission, and Neil and Jennifer both remain separately active; Jesus Lizard’s major label end game resulted in a man down and a couple of mediocre recordings; Pavement stayed around a couple of years after their expiration date; and the Grifters recorded a couple of great records and then basically screwed the pooch when they scrubbed up and went to Sub Pop. But Come were a band that got progressively more interesting with each album, and in 1998 Chris Brokaw and Thalia Zedek’s soulful, gutter-blues outfit released the near-perfect double LP Gently Down the Stream before going on what seems like permanent hiatus.

There’s a lot to be said for exiting on a high note, and both Brokaw and Zedek have continued to release high-quality albums under their own names. But none of these releases have matched the intensity and epicness of Come’s dual guitars and trade-off vocals, and Zedek’s two previous solo outings were particularly subdued, bordering on the morose. Were they lovely? Yes. Were they genuine, expressive art? Certainly. But now and then, I longed to hear some volume and heft added to her songs of woe.

Which is where Liars and Prayers comes in. It evokes those Come records but has the intriguing added bonus of incorporating the viola and piano that she’s been utilizing the last few years, resulting in a recording that integrates the best aspects of her music from the last 20 years.

Opener “Next Exit” is classic Zedek. Following a slow building intro, Zedek’s tougher than nails vocals warn: “There is no way out but out,” and later, over drum rolls and a piano vamp, “You can’t switch sides once you’ve accepted the ride.”

Zedek has been described as a sort of American PJ Harvey, with her voice betraying a more intimate relationship with cigarettes, whiskey and hard times than her supposed British counterpart. She’s an underrated lyricist, an unblinking chronicler of some of the worst parts of our nature, especially concerning relationships and their failures, and the emotional traps we set for ourselves. Zedek knows lying to others is cheap and petty, but lying to ourselves can be fatal to who we are. In Zedek we have a superb blues-informed guitarist and emotive singer with a bruised and scarred voice that perfectly suits her material; you believe what she’s singing.

There are a few so-so moments here, usually when she ventures into political material — “We Don’t Go” comes to mind — but mostly, it’s powerful stuff, and a welcome return to a more energized performance. (Eric Dawson)