Review Summary: While "So Tonight That I Might See" might not be the most exciting record to ever meet the needle's drag, the album is a fully realized attempt at exposing and revealing the darkest layers of expression and resignation.
Haunting and ethereal. These are the two words that could embody the entire spectrum of descriptors when contemplating the qualities within the sound created by Mazzy Star.
So Tonight That I Might See had one lone radio hit. A minor blip on the pop music radar that came at time when everything was alternative - no matter how wide its appeal, nor its actual genre of origin.
“Fade into You” was a dreamy, somber resignation of a song, with aspirations larger than the band and the moment from which it drew forth. With a quivering slide guitar, a modest chord progression and airy vocals,
“Fade into You” was a once in a decade ballad, capable of branding a moment in time. A California pixie, floating on a psychedelic plane, Hope Sandival is without a doubt the strongest instrument in her band. Soft as tissue and light enough to drift for miles, her voice creates a hologram of sound that establishes itself as the focal point of every song it bestows itself upon. Formed in the late '80s, Mazzy Star was the combined effort of guitarist and songwriter, David Roback, and Sandival, the ghostly-voiced frontwoman/lyricist. In 1990, they released a debut,
She Hangs Brightly, which received about as much attention as Hope's stature commands. It wasn't until unearthing the career defining hit on 1993 sophomore release,
So Tonight That I Might See, that anyone would take much notice.
The immense weight of the album's lone hit single severely imbalances the record for those not prepared for (or expecting) a journey into lifeless abyss. Accessibility takes a plunge after the opening draw of
“Fade Into You.” While the album as a whole is a well executed exploration into moody territory, the overall sound of the record is suited for contemplative relaxation and introspection, with individual tracks less independently sturdy than the album opener. Immediate intimacy and aural appeal is less discernible throughout the remainder of the listen. This does not, however, create for a weak offering. It only makes the fruits more esoteric.
Hope floats her other-worldly vocal across the dreamy haze of instrumentation on
“Bells Ring.” Rich in seduction, her voice is a soothing breeze – a breath of melody and polished-smooth drawl; Lyrics nearly inaudible, strewn over a backdrop of alternating chords and tamborine. A bad mushroom trip manifesting as a song,
“Mary of Silence” slows the album down to a near halt, with each bpm unwillingly forced into existence. The verse's lyrics expressed through a tripped-out string of incoherence, lost amidst a bed of reverb and wavering pitch; The stylistic manifestation of Roback's understated approach. Three arpeggiated chords make up the simple beauty of
“Five String Senenade,” one of the albums finest moments. Simple, delicate and minimal in nature, the track could be considered runner-up for album's best. With little deviation,
So Tonight That I Might See never tries to do too much, but continuously achieves its specific intentions with commendable results.
“Wasted,” rooted in its distortion-riddled, electric blues riff, is the punchiest of the album's ten compositions, but is still a laid back excursion, by any conventional standard. Album closer,
“So Tonight That I Might See,” introduces Native American inspired percussion and the intermittent tamborine crash, covered over with a spoken-word vocal, executed with the trademark passive enthusiasm demonstrated throughout the record.
Songs on
So Tonight That I Might See bleed together, unwavering in their solumn resolve to remain completely subdued, resistant to any kind of hope or need to pick themselves up; Instead, content to wallow in limp, listless misery. Ambivalent to its self-imposed constraints, the album flows as a consistent, tangent sentence, drawn out across a dreamy, dusty landscape. Certainly not the most exciting record to ever meet the needle's drag, yet still a fully realized attempt at exposing and revealing the darkest layers of expression and resignation. The perfect soundtrack to a rainy day or indulgence in self-pity. The kind of record anyone can appreciate and take comfort in, at one time or another.
