by B. Snapp (@snappstare.bsky.social)
Reservoir of Love fades in on the title track where intense opposing sonic forces of an opened music box and the drone of a song playing in reverse pull us under the spell of Shannon Wright’s artistry. It’s awakening from one surreal state and succumbing to another, a dream of reality. The beat comes in like the spirit of Steve Albini, and then we hear the first words of the album, Wright’s voice reluctantly yet abrasively uttering: “nothing here is nothing left.”
You should know by now you’re in for a ride. Leading up to this creative era, multi-instrumentalist Shannon Wright had already released nearly a dozen solo albums from 1998 to 2019—quite the second wind after a decade with her 90’s band Crowsdell. But then she, like the rest of the world, entered the next phase in 2020: a phase of “wait…” After the pandemic, and a hiatus from keeping up that pace, life-and-death things took priority. After being put through the challenges fate would have her face, and with some urging and support from Vicious Circle Records (based in Bordeaux, France), Wright decided to share this set of home studio recordings made over the past 4 or 5 years.
The songs on Reservoir of Love are personally born, perhaps primordially, as an outpouring of love, drive, grief, and thankfully, resurrection. As Shannon Wright put it when she posted an announcement on December 1, 2024, for the upcoming February release: “Looking inward and outward simultaneously, this album was created and recorded in isolation at home with no intention of a possible release.”
Possibilities of what might come, what might be lost, and what might return in some unforeseen form are all themes in Reservoir of Love. The lyrics are universally poetic and relatable, words and phrases whittled down to the essence of what must be said and only what needs to be divulged. Expressionistic at times, repetitious when needed for emphasis, and intensely direct, Wright writes lines that thread a sharp needle that pricks at the heart, suturing together a dichotomy of pain and hope. This kind of sparring and spurring that goes on in the mind, fumbling in darkness in search of a light, dealing with health conditions, the death of friends, and other unfortunate or misconstrued circumstances is all fertile ground.”
The consummated sound in Reservoir of Love reaches masterpiece levels after repeated listens. Each song has a twist of attack moving through the album. There’s a tidal ebb and flow, and the steady-handed production and discriminative sequencing are key. At 32 minutes, my ears are left wanting a second helping, but my brain is full to contentment. It’s a positively overwhelming feeling at first, how dense and lush the production is, attributed to Wright’s adept engineering & recording talent in her Atlanta studio, FlightSafety Manor (named in conjunction with the title of her debut solo album). Her musing is coupled with sole collaborator Kevin Ratterman’s drums & strings; he’s co-credited with mixing and handling the mastering at Invisible Creatures Studios in Los Angeles. It’s a joint labor of love; a massive reservoir of it.
The title track “Reservoir of Love” plus "Weight of the Sun" and "Ballad of a Heist" each throw down guitar-and-beat-driven songs familiar throughout Wright’s earlier catalog. There is something mysteriously off-kilter about these recordings, though, beefier in weight and density. To heighten the effect through juxtaposition, these volcanic rockers are nestled alternately between songs that list more quietly, float and elevate, or vaporize. They bear a likeness to some of her Touch and Go / Quarterstick Records songs, such as on Maps of Tacit (2000) and Let In the Light (2007), and the palette builds on the previous keys-based albums, Division (2016) and Providence (2019), both on Vicious Circle Records.
“The Hits” finds a middle ground, a pensive lead vocal overdubbed with dreamy backing vocals, keys that reprise the music box quality of the opener trickle like wind chimes, a silky bass line accompanying tactile squeaks of acoustic guitar playing, soon overcome by an ethereal delayed electric guitar lead line. Two tracks later, the Wurlitzer-based, beatless "Countless Days" plays like a chamber quartet deepening with bows sawing on strings pulled up by lightly plucked guitar, layering in synths that blanket a crystal-clear whispery vocal quality.
The comparative vibe of “Mountains,” and “Shadows,” is reminiscent of something experimentally mashed up, think Radiohead-meets-Portishead but without the electronica or trip-hop. “Mountains” centers on the bittersweet feelings of the truth. Shannon sings: “come on and say it even if you destroy me” and resolves on having an “armored heart” as if the adage, better to have loved and lost, is child’s play, cliche, and irrelevant. Building to crescendo, the sonic floor rips out from beneath us, in its place a familiar droning that started the album lingers, then abruptly stops. The isolated piano keys return, and an interlude segues into the penultimate track, “Shadows,” perhaps one of the most accessible tracks on the album. It’s straightforward in structure, culminating in a symphonically building ending that could be a finale. In the liner notes, this song is dedicated “For Philippe” — referring to Vicious Circle’s co-founder and longtime advocate of hers, Phillipe Couderc, who passed away in 2021.
Each song has a role, jostling and balancing out the intoxicating listening experience. Above and below the lyrical content, movements in the music transcend with experiential, immersive, powerful performances. There is separation in the mix that achieves a visceral blend. Distorted guitar riffs weave with strings, and clean guitar lines emerge. Basslines, almost imperceptible, create a vacuous tone. These are all elements she’s been exploring for years, from the sparse-to-spastic playfulness of Division to the serenity and serendipity in Providence. Again, going further back in the catalog, one can juxtapose the quiet harmonics-based songs (sans drums) with songs that detonate and endorse the way she can rock and roll, from her album In Film Sound (2013, Vicious Circle and Ernest Jenning), which was recorded and mixed by her Reservoir of Love collaborator Kevin Ratterman, as well as Dyed in the Wool (2001) and Over the Sun (2003), both recorded by Steve Albini for Touch and Go Records.
If recorded sounds are organic, and have their own lives, Shannon Wright’s legacy of musicianship has seeded, blossomed, wilted, and sprouted again. These songs self-fertilize and propagate with each listen. These are the sonic gardening tools unique to Shannon; her heart and soul and her imaginative way of expressing them through music, which she has half-jokingly said in a past interview keeps her from a mental institution. She’s vulnerable and open in the creative process; now the music is here for us, reminding us how fragile, and strong, we are. Wright is an American original who appeals to indie music connoisseurs everywhere, particularly in southern Europe where it seems she is most acclaimed and respected, because she is the radical epitome of “artist.”
The album’s 8th and final song is a piano ballad dedicated to Steve Albini. Its addendum is direct, concise, and magically capable of gliding over the razor’s edge of sorrow and hallowed ground toward a vision of solid-state unphased faith. The lyrics for “Something Borrowed”:
“Come home
Reappear
The sun is so grey
You’re something borrowed
You grey out everyone
Something borrowed
Tomorrow
You’ll reappear”
On Reservoir of Love, what’s obscured is what’s clear. As Shannon reaches inward, she unveils universal external truths. It’s revelatory and encouraging. We’re capable of tapping into individual reservoirs of love. Despite the things outside our control, we have the fortune to make peace with the world around us by reconciling with the world within us, and the people we love stay close no matter what happens. It’s an invigorating, beautifully intrinsic listening experience for anyone accepting change or seeking solace. For hardcore fans of Shannon Wright, this album might be placed at the pinnacle of her mountain of a discography.