Album Review: Jenny Mitchell – Tug of War

Jenny Mitchell - Tug of War

Jenny Mitchell – Tug of War
(Cooking Vinyl Australia)

Reviewed by Tim Gruar.

Multi award winning alt-country artist Jenny Mitchell is a teller of stories, blending folk, alt-country and Americana into her own unique brand of song, gently wrapped in wisdom, wit and sometimes, warning. Her debut album, ‘Tug of War’, weaves tales a maturity of thought that is well beyond her years. She’s already a champion for young wāhine, she speaks directly to them like a sister and a guardian, gently and with clarity.

Originally hailing from the Deep South, Mitchell has been treading the boards of folk clubs since she was knee high to a Gibson. But it was 2018 release ‘Wildfires’, produced by Sydney’s Matt Fell that really made us sit up and take notice. It went on to scoop a Tui for Recorded Music NZ Best Country Music Artist in 2019. Two year’s later it also garnered a nomination for Alt-Country Album of the Year at the 2020 Australian Golden Guitar Awards.

Since then, she’s clocked up appearances at dozens of festival stages, predominantly across the ditch, such as the Maldon Folk Festival, Nannup Festival and the Tamworth Country Music Festival. She’s shared stages with Tami Neilson, Julia Deans and Australia’s Felicity Urquhart. She tours regularly through homes in every nook & cranny of Aotearoa and her sought-after ‘House Concerts’ provide an intimate parlour style musical experience that delight audiences of all ages and bring local communities together. I suspect it’s these kinds of gigs that she had in mind when writing this album. She has stories to tell, and wants those close connections.

The songs on Tug of War were written during a time of big life changes and provide the backdrop and inspiration for many of these songs. She graduated from the University of Otago (where she specialised in Gender Studies for her Bachelor of Arts); her musical career was thrown into Lockdown; there was a break-up of a relationship; signed up to a new job in a new town; the death of her granddad and a move from her long-time base in Dunedin to Wellington. “As the pandemic started I had just finished uni. I wanted to make an album, to tour overseas, and just like everyone else I felt that something had been stolen from me,” Jenny says in her publicity.

The making of ‘Tug Of War’ was also challenging. Unable to travel due to the restrictions, Mitchell, like many other musicians in this predicament, had to share demos with her producer (Matt Fell – who was based in Australia), whith other musicians dialling in their contributions from their various home studios. Yet when listening you’d hardly notice at all. What you get is a cohesive sound, cleverly spliced together as if everyone was in the room together all along.

Mitchell is not afraid to employ all the tropes and trappings of the genre: a bit of fiddle here and a touch of banjo there; double time shuffles and even a hint of skiffle, too. But it all works so well that you just want to jump on and take that ride with her.

It starts gently with ‘If you were a Bird’, a philosophical pondering of the meaning of possession. The song is simply arranged, just a girl and her guitar. But there’s layers and layers to unravel in those simple, innocent lyrics: “If you were a bird, I think I’d like your song, If you were a light I think I’d always leave you on…” She dives deeper into what it really means to ‘own’ something, or someone. Whether that be your first house or a pair of sneakers. Can you own someone’s heart, possess them wholly? Can you own a spirit that is as free as a bird? Is a this metaphor or is it literal?

Track two, ‘Make Peace With Time’ brings in a full band to flesh out a beautiful mid-tempo ballad that just floats across the ears with a natural comfort. The song tests the idea of moving on and the healing of chronicle distance after a break up. It’s full of open questions and statements, “does she toss and turn in her sleep?”; “Straighten, button up” (i.e. get on with it, stop brooding on the past). And I love that phrase, a simple question: “Has she made peace with time?”

The big single, “Trouble Finds Girl”, is already turning heads. It calls out slut and body shaming, even rape culture, and declares war on all those who perpetuate or participate in it’s continuance. And it’s possibly the most directly feminist song I’ve heard since the days of Helen Reddy. It opens slowly, “There’s women talking over backyard fences, every time your name comes up … cos trouble finds girls in skirts that drink too much”. It’s the classic ‘bad girl’ cliché commonly employed in Country songs about small town gossip hags. But it’s a also common with modern day social media trolls. It’s only two lines, but sums up how we all intentionally or unintentionally buy in to it. She’s backed by the very welcome voice of Tami Neilson, who adds her own force to the argument: “Trouble finds girls walking home after midnight / Trouble finds girls singing in the Sunday choir / Trouble finds a girl sittn’ at her own damn kitchen table / Trouble finds a girl and calls that girl a liar.”

But the song changes tack, when they both come out swinging, down on the side of the accused. “If trouble’s going to find you, it’s gonna have to find me too / We’ll light that match together and watch it burn!” Jenny’s speaking from experience “I’ve been down this road before / And, Honey, I’ve been keeping score / And It’s trouble’s turn to lose!”

The way she personifies all the evils perpetuated against women and balls them up into one character, “Trouble”, is a brilliant metaphor. You call it out like this, attack it head on – target an enemy you can visualise. There’s a hint at our fears: “We teach our girls which clothes get the wrong attention / And how to carry our keys between our knuckles in a parking lot.”

“But all this time,” Jenny intervenes, “We’re playing by the ‘rules’ but “Trouble’s” not!” There’s only one solution “Burn it down!… It’s ‘Trouble’s turn to lose!” How, exactly, is up to the listener. Perhaps addressing the examples given in this song is a start. The song finishes with a powerful, almost gospel crescendo, a strong show solidarity, both sisters and brothers, all voices blended in unity.

This is a highly polished number, produced by Tami Neilson with Chip Matthews (bass), Tom Broome (percussion), and Brett Adams (guitars) adding their own layer of gloss. Jenny’s sisters Nicola and Maegan, her dad Ron join Kaylee Bell and Fanny Lumsden on backing vocals. An all in the family affair.

Returning to the Southern dusty hills of her own ‘pioneer’ roots ‘Somehow’ begins with some dark folk notes picked on a banjo, and the lines “Darkness is a woman and she’s bathed in frankincense”, a slight biblical reference to sin and salvation.

Then there’s her most unashamed ‘Country’ number, ‘Lucy’, that rides quietly along on an acoustic guitar and fiddle with BFF Liv Cochrane helping out in the chorus. In the song she’s comparing herself to ‘Lucy’ and her perfect picket fence life, over the fence where the grass looks greener but probably isn’t. This song is really just a pondering, no secret message or sinister twist here. “It comforts me to know that the world gave Lucy and I different kinds of gold”. In other words, accept what you have and make the best of it.

The song was inspired by a 50’s TV hero, Lucille Ball. “She had dreams of being a performer and wished for a life very different to her own.” Jenny says in her publicity, “At the time I was touring a lot and worried I was missing out on things back home. It made me think about how often we’re all looking over each other’s fences and wishing we had what another has and so, ‘Lucy’ was written essentially as reminder to myself to be more grateful for the gifts in my life.”

‘Snakes in the Grass’ feels familiar, a stompin’ old timey number warning of unspoken conmen and trip-ups to be wary of.

One of the most charming moments is ‘Holding’ – “holding out for the boy of which I have no doubt”. She broods on a friend that has moved on, leaving her behind, but keeping the faith despite. It’s a universal theme treated with a delicate touch.

The title track, ‘Tug of War’, hints at the turmoil of our heart vs. Our brain. That inner conflict between our desires and the practical. More banjos and a full band swelling up creates a gentle optimistic sway feel. If Kasey Chambers needs an opening act, then this song will be perfect for that set.

With ‘Tomorrow’ and ‘Love Isn’t words” Jenny is digging deep to tell stories and philosophise about love and loss. On the latter, she describes her strong, silent father, who shows his love by just being there when it counts. As a Dad myself, I get it. And what a fabulous tribute. Dads are often side lined in music, or demonised. But here she pays it forward in the most tender moment of the whole album “Our ground shifted today in Hospital Room 88/ My father watched his father drift away / Didn’t have too much to say / What’s the point anyway? / Cos love isn’t words / It’s working through the cold and the dirt / and being there even when it hurts.” Nuff said!

The album finishes with a nod to her own whanau, ‘The Bush an The Birds’, helped out by her sisters, who all harmonise like vocal angels, celebrating a lone tall man and his wife who lives in the hills. A family who strived and struggled to raise their pioneer family, she’s honouring her grandfather, Bruce, of who without she’d never be around to sing about.

‘Tug Of War’ is a truly honest and remarkable debut, from an emerging singer songwriter with a delicate, light touch, and a deep soul. Her songs are founded in the narrative traditions of folk, family and a sense of place.

When you listen to these songs there’s an instant connection to her pure and natural voice. Mitchell could be a sister, a neighbour, a friend. We know her, even before we’ve met her. This is down home country music with a little ‘C’. Both urban and rural, these songs the come from the from heart and the heartland, more familiar than the distant rhinestone studded territories of Nashville or the Grand Ol’ Opry. These are songs we can relate to and celebrate as if we wrote ourselves. If only we could.

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