Lara Yuko clearly doesn’t mind to bring her listeners to tears. She delivers personal and upfront intensity to the ears of a listener, clearly aimed at them as one soul to another. With her intimate voice (in multiple minimal music settings) she sets up an emotional delivery, one after another. She has clearly crafted the ability to pull out the tears from the corners of an ear-witness; either it being drawn from beauty or shy sadness. Her voice is cracking up in a way that you will recognize from when you are on the edge and pulled towards the act of crying out loud. Yet she manages to refrain from crying herself, cruising that fine emotional line for all of us to look at, as if she is an acrobat tip toeing on a thin line suspended high above the ground.
These devotional songs are clearly written out of real life situations, but it’s the voice of Lara that will sets open the flood gate of watery eyes. Her sound has that feel as if she is on the edge of going for an emotional explosion in which no tissue will be safe from getting wet. She might not cry herself, as she is that acrobat that never tumbles down the obvious road; but instead she will play the hearts and souls of her listeners; applying her art in such a way that centimeter by centimeter the floor of a listener gets slowly covered by a flood of salty tears.
Lara Yuko sings her heart out but keeps from going through the roof, making her songs the kind to sing or hum along with. It’s the songs that will be appreciated by fans of the ‘everything is fucked up’ sound of the moldy peaches, yet the songwriting is much more on the road of being pure emotional literature-wise. I’m not immortal, and also weeping at the moment. I cry even harder because I’ve been running out of tissues and now been using my only t-shirt as a big one to soak up my tears with. I’m especially touched by the duet named ‘talking birds’ in which the tag line ‘The coffee taste like dirty shoes’ simply drove me over the emotional edge, one that opened up the gates for more tears then the room can possibly handle.
Highlight of this album to me must have been the song ‘The House That You Call Home’ as it goes even deeper into me as a listener; giving the shivers deep in all my bones. The simplicity of the banjo and the crucial words as sung by Lara is so real and so sad that my eyes turn redder then red, waterfalls flow out of them making my room mates crawl into the inflatable rescue boats as I’m crying an ocean, or at least something that should be a ‘new world record’.
My cat isn’t very pleased as it is now hanging at its highest point within the curtains, but my loyal goldfish isn’t all too sad as she is now swimming around the living room freely. It’s hard to think of any other singing songwriter that has triggered such a flooding in here, and that simply makes this album by Lara Yuko something very special & indeed very emotional. It might be perfect idea to spread this album to places where there is shortage of water, or listen to it in places that don’t get ruined when a heavy load of tears pop out to react to the magic that Lara Yuko had captured here.
Check it out at your own risk at the following link: