From Haunted to Strange

Lynn Miles's lexicon of lonliness

by John O'Neill

The introduction to Lynn Miles was a classic (if embarrassing) case of shit-luck and a free CD. While the Worcester Phoenix HQ moved from Auburn to Worcester, there was a cardboard box of older, already reviewed/dismissed discs with a hand-scratched "Take me home, but don't bring me back" sign tacked to it. With a pretty good track record for quality, Rounder Records' release of Miles's Slightly Haunted (Philo) was adopted, finding refuge in the back seat of the Honda Civic, eventually relocating to a more promising home in a stack of rainy-day listens. Then, one sorry weekend, long after the Makers Mark had cruised to an easy win over responsible socializing, Miles somehow found her way to the CD player. And in the time it took for the opening strains of "You Don't Love Me Anymore" to wash over what was left of rational thought, it was decided that something very special had been discovered. There was nothing left to do but sit dumfounded in an already hazy stupor and fumble with the replay button over and over again, till sleep wrestled consciousness and a profound sense of (somehow beautiful) desolation from which I did not care to be rescued.

The following afternoon Slightly Haunted passed the far more demanding sober-test and began a month-long residency, playing virtually non-stop in the Pioneer whenever there was a free moment. And no matter how many times that little silver disc spun around, the sense of loneliness never eased. Miles, with little effort, managed to articulate the human condition of yearning and to bring it to a new level. Forlorn, but never desperate, her songs were an unflinching and honest glimpse at identifiable truths -- heartbreak, isolation, and a world-weariness sung by a wide-eyed cynic who really suffered from the too-big heart of a closet optimist.

"Loneliness is one of my big themes. People do acts of desperation like marrying someone they don't love because they don't want to be alone," says Miles from her current digs in Los Angeles. "It's a huge thing in the human condition cause it makes us make compromises,"

A native of Quebec, Miles went west to LA in 1998 to record her second album for Rounder, Night In a Strange Town (again on the Philo folk imprint). After a nine-month sabbatical back north of the border, she returned to the scene of the slime last month and is headed out for the road (playing the Bull Run this Friday with Bill Morrissey) and imminent conquest of America. Strange Town is currently blasting it's way up the AAA charts, with the first single "Sunset Blvd." reaching the top 10 this past week.

Just as residing in Canada is a huge leap from the grit of Los Angeles, the difference between Slightly Haunted and Strange Town are just as pronounced. Where the first album was heavily rooted in a more acoustic vain with a stark, countrified atmosphere -- you could actually sense the sprawl and vastness of the Canadian landscape -- Strange Town opts for a more polished pop production and introduces a more rounded, though no-less intriguing, Miles.

"I get put into this `folk' thing a lot and I write more `pop' songs. I wanted to present myself as the way I thought of myself," Miles explains. "Plus, being in LA, that has it's own flavor and sound. These songs lend themselves to that."

Still intensely interested in the topic of life's experiences, especially love lost and love discovered, Miles continues to paint terrific portraits. Only now she's using broader strokes that include straight-up Sarah McLachlan-style pop, and a country twang that will draw comparisons to Suzy Bogguss and Heather Myles. But it's the country-folk ballads which she excels at that ultimately separate her from the pack. On "Beautiful Night," Miles ethereal vocals hover, and float with such delicacy that it almost hurts to listen. Conversely, "Anywhere," "Middle of the Night," "Perfect Romance," and "Sacre Cofur," are all breezy tunes that tumble along with an I'm-still-standing optimism. A natural storyteller with a sense for keeping much-trod topics fresh, Miles's most radical departure is the suddenly popular "Sunset Blvd.," an extremely cynical look at the Los Angeles lifestyle. But it almost didn't make the album.

"I didn't want it to be on the album because I was afraid of it, but Larry and John [album coproducers Klein and Cody] told me to put it on because it's a side of me people don't know," she says. "It is me. I'm opinionated and a little cynical. But I do think those thoughts. I understand why people react to it; it's sort of a quirky song. It's not indicative of my album, but it's part of my lexicon. I'm proud of it.

"I don't have a process I do," says Miles of her songwriting. "The most important thing is that I live a songwriter lifestyle. I can pick up a guitar when I want and let it guide me. I used to have all these rules about [the conditions] of songwriting, but now that I'm on the road more than I use to be, I write in my hotel room or while I'm on the road. Of course, they're songs about the road!"