We have often looked to the insect world for enlightenment and entertainment of our own species — just look at the many idioms, fables, literature, even movies involving bees, ants, butterflies and other creepy crawly friends. In 2006, the Portland Institute for Contemporary Art commissioned Mirah on vocals and Spectratone International (a regrouping of the former Black Cat Orchestra) to work such creative magic on a song cycle about bugs, which was then set to a suite of animated shorts by stop-motion artist Britta Johnson for the Seattle International Children’s Festival in 2007. As inspiration for the studies that make up Share This Place: Stories and Observations, the musicians dug into the writings of nineteenth-century French naturalist J. Henri Fabre, considered the father of modern entomology, and Karel Capek’s surrealist “The Insect Play.” The result is an amusing and eclectic, curious and sometimes meandering collection of songs.
The magic of Mirah’s limpid, almost girlish voice is its ability to slip into any palette of accompaniments, whether it’s threading along quietly or offsetting heavier, wilder surroundings which would drown out lesser performers. Hers is an intimate voice in song that remains a bit cool and matter of fact, producing a trick of perspective in bringing introspection into larger scope, especially in her last solo release, C’mon Miracle. It’s this quality of illuminating the small and detailed without coming off overwrought that works so well for her here. Lori Goldston on cello and Kyle Hanson on accordian, joined by Jane Hall’s percussion and Kane Mathis’s oud, provide a range of styles, often airing an old-world European and Roma sway, reel and waltz. They are by no means a mere back-up band, as their spirited playing fully integrates into Mirah’s singing, both starring and supporting each other in a way that sounds interestingly woven, yet unrestrained.
There’s a sense of fun in a lot of the tunes, as in the constant buzzing melodic lines in “Love Song of the Fly,” which counter Mirah’s plea as a fly who just wants to be loved, and in the melodramatic tango flair in “Supper,” which is about the glowworm, whose gruesome eating habits are shown off with relish (“Liquefaction is a skill which I possess/Oh, how I love a good soup/ Straight from the shell is best!”). The language is stilted and full of big words, as if insects have a sort of haughty, antiquated way of talking, but the poetic, metered style works to shape the music, and multi-syllable mentions such as “alimentary gifts” and “lepidopterists” usually come off as theatrical but surprisingly unfussy.
The songs that work best distinguish themselves with style and force. “Community,” with two tracks of Mirah in harmony, over a plucked cello is simple and graceful. The ambitious “Song of Psyche,” a disjointed pacing of the Greek myth, takes its time to unfold, but such crafting might find favor with fans of Joanna Newsom. Other songs also don’t follow a traditional pop momentum, like the stop-and-go of the compelling “My Lord Who Hums” — which has Mirah sounding most like her solo-self — and the split “Luminescence,” one part all cool breeze “Girl from Ipanema” and flipside all lusty confidant flame.
As with her own songs, Mirah narrates Share This Place in first person, or more appropriately here, first bug. The framing is perhaps a poignant point of view, for despite the details of the subject matter, Mirah and Co. have created an album that doesn’t come off so much as dorky entomology homework as an enjoyable reminder that we, too, are stubborn, tiny and squashable, and yet yearn to fly high.
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