Just as with her lauded 2003 basement-tapes, Catalpa and Escondida, Holland writes with a soft focus and a sharp edge (and sometimes vice-versa). Holland’s sepia-toned song noir and billowy voice are in rare form as she weaves ethereal tales at a crossroads where haunting meets joyful—hers is a voice from the heavens singing stories of the underworld. The songs rise and fall like heavy eyelids and convey the peace of a place between asleep and awake. Sounds from past and present-tense waltz together to a never-ending melody that flickers between folk, jazz, blues and pop as Holland’s characters and situations play on surrealistic celluloid.
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They hadn't been gone
But about two weeks
I swear it was not three
When she espied his cloven hoof
And wept most bitterly
They hadn't been gone
But about three weeks
I swear it was not four
When she espied his cloven hoof
And knew she'd never go home no more.