Don't explain

Merrie Amsterburg's Little Steps is great pop

By Brett Milano

Merrie Amsterburg may never recover from an experience she had as a teenager when she realized that one of her favorite love songs was addressed to a dog. "You remember `Shan-

non,' that really pretty song that sounded like the Beach Boys?," she asks over a drink at the Lizard Lounge. Unfortunately, I do; I even remember that the artist was Henry Gross. "Right, and I used to love that song so much, until I found out he was singing about a fuckin' Irish setter. There you go -- ruined. And that affected me deeply" -- she says this with a laugh. "But that's why I don't like explaining what my songs are about."

On one level, Amsterburg doesn't have to explain what her songs are about. On her much-praised debut, Season of Rain (originally on Q Division, later re-released on Zoë), they were largely about loss, loneliness, and survival. On the new Little Steps (Zoe/Rounder), they're about all of the above, plus the willingness to move on, accept love, and come back to life. The details ring true enough that one assumes they have a base in Amsterburg's own experience -- she allows that they do but figures she's already revealed enough in the lyrics. What's important is that the songs really aren't about her. They're about whatever the listener happens to be growing through. Turning personal specifics into universals is one of the oldest and hardest tricks in the book, and it's the definition of what great pop is about.

What's unusual is that Amsterburg has been embraced by adult-contemporary radio, a medium that usually deals in gentle reassurance and easy answers. Even a great A/C writer like John Hiatt has offered his share of the latter: quit drinking, get married, drive South, and live happily ever after. It didn't have to be that way: Season of Rain sported a creative sound, half acoustic strings and half keyboard loops, that wasn't far from Beth Orton, Aimee Mann, and even Stereolab territory -- but it came out around the time that alternative radio lost interest in subtlety. She wound up playing Mountain Stage instead of Lilith, touring with Indigo Girls instead of the riot grrrls.

On Little Steps, which was produced by Mike Denneen, Amsterburg goes for a lush and melodic sound but takes an unusual path to get it. The rhythm on the title song was provided by her washing machine, of which she notes, "I've been wanting to record it for a while; it has a drone to a B-flat." Other exotic touches include a vintage organ bought for $35 at a garage sale and the trumpet that she used to play in her high-school-band days. She also points out that if you listen to the second verse of the title song, you can hear a vocal cameo by her parrot, who likes to sing along with washing machines. But the indie-style production ensures that nothing gets in the way of her voice. When she turns a lovely Bacharach-type tune on "Heart in My Head," you wind up grateful that nobody did the obvious and hired an orchestra.

That voice remains a remarkable one, drenched in aching and longing. She has a few vocal tricks -- a slight quiver here, a catch in the throat there -- that a lesser singer might overuse, but she's smart enough to save them for the most emotionally loaded moments. One such moment occurred during Little Step's disc-release party at the Lizard. After wrapping up the set with a couple of relatively upbeat numbers, she encored with "Atmosphere." Easily the most painful song on the new disc, it's an understated ballad about feeling the presence of a deceased loved one. If this were a Cat Power show, it would be the perfect occasion for the singer to break down in tears. But Amsterburg sang it with her eyes wide open and focused straight ahead, as if she were staring down a ghost.

There was a time that Amsterburg did more upbeat pop. One number from that era, "My Romeo," appears on Little Steps reworked into a samba. The song was originally on one of the Natives' (the late-'80s pop group she was in with musical partner and guitarist Peter Linton) demos that prompted Kiss main man Gene Simmons to sign the band to his label (that deal fell through because Simmons ultimately decided to scrap the label and take Kiss back on the road); the new version stands out as one of the few straightforward love songs she's written.

Still, she admits that she gravitates to darker material. She's even found dark corners in something as lightweight as the Police's "Walking on the Moon," which was covered on the Season of Rain reissue. "There's still a certain longing in that song that I can relate to." And she adds that her new album's agenda is more upbeat than it might seem. "When sad things happen, you wind up thinking of your responsibility to be the best person you can possibly be. And so a lot of songs on this album are about being responsible for your actions, having a clear vision of what you do. If you're not focused on what you want, you're probably going to wind up getting what you don't want."

Merrie Amsterburg appears this Friday, February 16 at 8 p.m. at the Center for Arts in Natick, 31 Main Street, Natick. Tickets are $12. Call (508) 647-0097.