Diana Darby

What if they freeze-dried the '60s and nobody came? That's the feeling this album conveys, some lost essence of the Fab decade uncluttered with myth and nostalgia. Fantasia Ball sounds like the teenage Marianne Faithfull's first two albums, if all the Brit studio orchestration were drained away and that little bird was left with only her plaintive voice and a guitar to get by. Diana Darby's second album, recorded at home on 4-track, is just that dry and pretty and endlessly insinuating. She's based in Nashville, where ice tea comes presweetened if you don't ask, but this music isn't—it's spare, minimal, just Darby's softly disquieting vocals and guitar (with subtle, occasional backups from cello, drums, etc.) speaking slim & infinite volumes. "My Own," a dark confessional of family strife, has gathered much attention so far, but I like the forever-changed neo-samba of "Summer," the resigned hedonism of "If It Feels Good" (the squares'll be worried), and Darby's methadone-acted vocal on "Happy" even better. After 10 fine Darby originals, the album ends with a cover of the perfectly-chosen 1965 Rolling Stones tune "Blue Turns to Grey," bringing the Marianne Faithfull soul of Fantasia Ball full circle: Mick Jagger (in his jaunty sailor suit) sang about the easy-rolling blue, but Darby (as Faithfull before her) deflects to the sterner passion of the grey.

- Richard Riegel, Creem Magazine November 2003