Neko's Ark
Neko Case knows from danger. A not-so-subtle sense of impending terror underscores several of her better recordings, be it the looming fears of a serial killer on the loose that informed Deep Red Bells from Blacklisted to the sparse and haunted waltz of her Furnace Room Lullaby. Case can write strangely imprecise lyrics that'll make you double-bolt the door and pull the covers up over your shoulderseven if her honky tonk vocals lifted from yesterday always come around to assure us it's going to be OK in the end.
But that good-time girl, the one with Dusty Springfield's smirk and Loretta Lynn's lip, never shows up on Case's latest, the enigmatic Fox Confessor Brings the Floodthe kind of album designed to tempt the listener into a dark corner in the back of the bar and knock you in the head with a blunt object. The danger previous records hinted at finally reaches its full exquisite blossomit's as if the Case with a soft spot for corny barroom ditties (Thanks a Lot) or boot-scootin' jill-billy hummers (Whip the Blankets) has been locked in a closet while her sinister twin took the reigns and put out an album of her own. Or maybe it's just the sign of an immensely talented songwriter and Renaissance woman of modern music finally coming into her own. Either way, Fox Confessor shouldn't be trusted. It's crafty, and would cut you if it got half a chance.
Call it a fitting metaphor for Case herself, whose career so far has been marked by DIY defiance and an astoundingly diverse body of work. The scarlet-haired singer is known by many as an essential element in the New Pornographers, though that group's superpop sound feels about a million miles removed from Case's 1998 debut (along with Her Boyfriends), The Virginianan unapologetic love letter to AM radio country queens.
Subsequent albums kept the retro-slant and gospel edges but saw Case grow immensely as a songwriter; her confessional, whiskey-soaked Furnace Room Lullaby balanced weepy and frenetic, while the lush Blacklisted summoned hints of a new Gothic sensibility to perfectly complement Case's taste for reverbs and pageantry.
It also gave us the first of many animals that would come to roost on Fox Confessor: blackbirds and bees, followed by that doomed feline on her 2004 live album, The Tigers Have Spoken. On the new CD, Case's petting zoo exceeds its capacity. This ark of an album revels in its parade of beasts: falcons, wolves, sparrows, lions, hawks, eagles and, of course, the titular fox. It's no coincidence that most of these creatures fall under the predator category; a particular sense of mortal danger lingers on several tracks.
Save one hymn, John Saw That Number, Case has nearly completely chucked the Grand Ole Opry influences and results in something probably closer to a Tori Amos album than anything heard from Case so far. And we're talking mid-career Tori, after she gave up on being just a precocious piano wench and surrendered fully to the weirdness. Case's often lush and meticulously written mélange of moods on the new album avoids the Boys for Pele syndromeit's not just freaky for the sake of being freakybut barely.
Attempting to decipher these lyrics could seriously lead to dementia. Case in point: the title track, which issues a vague warning about the death of civilization, qualifies as one of the album's strongest. Granted, hearing Case's haunting voice sing names from the phone book would be a welcome reprieve from today's American Idol wasteland of pop music. But what in the holy hell are more than half these songs actually about?
The mystery of the menagerie aside, Fox Confessor Brings the Flood reveals a horrifically talented musician once again rattling cages. So what if we don't know exactly what kind of animal might be trapped inside. There's danger afoot, the wolves are restless and only Case can tell you to fear the flood.
April 6 w/Martha Wainwright. April 7 w/The High Dials. Webster Hall, 125 E. 11th St. (betw. 3rd & 4th Aves.); 7, $20/$23.