Emma RussackPermanent Vacation begins with the most delicate little piano melody, as bright as the sun slowly cooking the supine figure on the album cover. The notes dart about like swallows, overlapping Russack's breathy intonations, creating a warm, cloudy haze of ghostly perfection.
A Spartan, late-night interpretation of a lost Lucinda Williams album, Permanent Vacation feels like the work of a seasoned performer in total control, demonstrating monkish restraint, completely clear of sonic clutter.
It was written during halcyon times, and that sense of absolute freedom is evident, with the tone spontaneously drifting from indulgent melancholy, wry self-reflection and deep contentment.
