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I first experienced the terrific songcrafting ability that Jenny McIntyre possesses in my own wannabe studio about five years ago when I worked with her on a demo. We worked at a fairly fast pace and she was a joy to work with because she tried everything I asked of her without complaint. My wife and I were both struck by the raw talent that McIntyre possessed to write great hooks and engaging lyrics with vocal talent to boot, a trait not common in today’s singer songwriter community.
Outside the Radio starts off with Vertigo, a McIntyre favorite and wraps up with the angry, King of All That’s Wrong With Me. These two tracks act as the bread in a Rosie Thomas-esque sandwich. Stuck in the middle is the meat which I think McIntyre should stick with, a tune entitled “Suckers” that’s an upbeat feel-good knee slapper. This record presents hints of self doubt, lover’s bouts and even a swear word for credibility or good measure, I’m not certain which.
The proliferation of home studios and a vast array of cheap mics that don’t suck have truly impacted the modern artist’s ability to record and re-record and re-record and re-record and so on. Lots of artists, the writer included, tend to recycle and reinvent songs rather than release new material and the cheaper, readily available technology only worsens the problem. To McIntyre newbie’s, none of this matters but if you’ve been a fan for a while, this album presents some new material accompanied with newer, slicker versions of tired demo material.
Like a salesman with lots of great products but poor negotiation skills, Jenny writes some great songs but has trouble closing the deal. Most of the featured songs have an ability to stand on their own two legs but to the ultra-discerning album fan there is little cohesiveness and the stuff that makes you say “hmmmm.” The average melancholy pop lover won’t have any disappointments though.
The biggest plus for this record is that Jenny doesn’t hide behind a giant band that you’ll never hear live. The songs, for the most part will translate well to a guitar or two and a vocal, McIntyre’s strong suit. Jenny is not one to be overlooked and has a great formal first effort up for the offering. I’m excited to see where Jenny heads with her sophomore release and a more seasoned artist’s perspective.
Outside the Radio is an intelligent release worthy of rotation. McIntyre should be proud as most indie freshman efforts make great coasters, frisbees or are parted out for Todd Oldham projects.
by: Matt Carter
- Greenvillescene.com
"On her pretty debut disc Outside the Radio, South Carolina's Jenny McIntyre uses her direct, clean vocals to craft tender and emotionally weary tunes augmented by piano, synth and plucked strings." - Flagpole (Athens, GA)
Discography
Outside the Radio (2007)
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Bio
Jenny McIntyre’s voice is delicate to
the point of gauziness at times, like you could tear right through it
if you accidentally placed your finger on a sound wave. It’s the voice
of a woman-child calling out from under the bed for all the reasons
children find themselves there: fear and uncertainty, daydreams and
pranks, love and mystery. Her songs seem drawn from a lifetime of
diaries. They’re don’t tell the truth so much as they tell the tales
of a full and eager heart in a world of disappointments. The songs are
exercises in trying again, in pulling her chin up and readying herself
for the next round of whatever doesn’t go right.
At her core, Jenny McIntyre is a singer-songwriter, but she steps
outside of that context whenever she can. From the outset of her debut
album, the shape shift is on: the acoustic guitar finds itself in a
digital universe where Amy Lee meets pop tunes meets indie rocker
snarkiness meets admissions of failure, asking for help and
confession. On top of and through it all—that bird-song voice sings
from whatever strange or spurious branches it finds itself standing
on, clear, persistent, unblinking.
At her live shows, she watches you like a wild animal—shifty but
fascinated, ready to dart away at the first, too-quick movement. But
there’s something in her method, the fragile voice and open-selved
lyrics, the occasional bumbled timing with the grinning shrug that
shows just how much she wants to be tamed, placed in a warm palm and
held, reassured that fear isn’t the dominant reality, it’s just a
weather pattern that can and will pass if the song and the singer just
try hard enough to cuddle up against a listener’s heart.
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