Sarah Harmer: You Were Here : Music Reviews : Rolling Stone

Album Reviews

Toronto folk rocker Sarah Harmer has a lovely cold-water voice and a knack for calling things as she sees 'em. On the plainly hooky, tender-but-tough songs of You Were Here, Harmer lovingly chronicles the rough-and-tumble of real-life romance. More than occasionally she comes off like a less-pissed-off psychic cousin of the Liz Phair who recorded Exile in Guyville. The singer accompanies herself on Wurlitzer organ and guitar (knocking out a monster wah-wah solo on "Weakened State"), while a few friends add the occasional clarinet, cello and beat loops. The placid "Lodestar," like many of the album's songs, is full of quiet pastoralism, while "Uniform Grey," an almost Appalachian jig, is suffused with both temptation and tension. The signature lyric of You Were Here is from the title track: "I could lie to myself, and say I like it/But I'd love it if you were here." The song has none of the goopy melodrama of your typical Sarah McLachlan joint, just a simple melody, an upright bass and the overwhelming ambience of still winter air, and it's infinitely more powerful because of these things. Harmer sings like someone who doesn't have a cynical bone in her body, but she drops so much lyrical straight-shooting that she turns You Were Here into a marvelously compelling meditation on the imperfection of the whole love thing. A dozen killer songs doesn't sour the deal, either. (RS 862)

PAT BLASHILL