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Dirty Linen, April-May 1998 Two recordings from Canadian song-writer Susan Crowe, whose quiet sense of understatement holds both for her lyrics and vocal style. Her voice is almost a whisper at times, her lyrics sparse but telling, conveying a deep sense of emotion, very subtly but very powerfully. The Door to the River has sparser production, with This Far From Home being a bit brighter in mood, but both are rewarding works, both strangely compelling in ways that will touch you. 
Folk Roots, October 1997
When Canadian singer song-writer Susan Crowe made her debut back in 1995 with This Far From Home, it was easy to dismiss her as just another singer songwriter. For her ruminations on the human condition and affairs of the heart were no more striking than those of many others, but what she had in volumes was an ability to evoke a mood with her songs. A rare quality indeed. She was duly rewarded with a nomination for a Juno Award - the Canadian equivalent of a Grammy. Now two years later, she has come-up with a follow-up, The Door to the River, that is no less impressive. For, while the timbre of Susan’s vocals is reminiscent of Mary Chapin Carpenter’s and Carrie Newcomer’s she has gravitas too. For example, the usage of archaisms such as “thee” and “dwell” could be pretentious, yet here there is a stillness and contemplative quality that would not be out of place in a hymnal. Furthermore, she possesses that rare ability of crafting a lyric that bears scrutiny on its own terms. Throughout, the arrangements seek to embellish rather than overwhelm, with John Reischman’s mandolin being employed to particular effect. In the final analysis, what lets the album down as a whole is its lack of variety in mood and tempo, but its qualities probably outweigh such frivolous reservations.
The Victoria Times Columnist, March, 1997
B.C. singer/songwriter Susan Crowe’s follow-up to This Far From Home, her Juno-nominated debut, consolidates her strengths as a poetic songsmith with an evocative, expressive voice. The 10 original songs she penned for The Door to the River ache with loss and longing. Backed by a supportive band that includes Roy Forbes and mandolin master John Reischman, Crowe produces a series of deliciously sensual and dreamlike vocals. This is a beautiful recording. Highly recommended.
The Montreal Gazette, March 8, 1997
Crowe’s hushed and throaty voice will wash over you, until one day you realize her songs have seeped under your skin. It'll happen as easy as breathing.
Kinesis, December 1996/January 1997
Susan Crowe’s second album, The Door to the River, was released in November, and has already been enthusiastically received by the media: a four star review in the Vancouver Sun and Juno Award predictions by CBC. In homes like mine, it was snatched up immediately with just as much enthusiasm. More music from Crowe feels like a precious gift to me. Originally from Nova Scotia, Crowe now lives in Vancouver. An earlier (mid-eighties) singing/songwriting career was stymied, she says, by a lack of confidence, but she returned to it with This Far From Home, her first CD, in 1994. I know Susan Crowe as a friend now. However, I didn’t know her at all when I started listening almost constantly to This Far From Home. In fact, I was a bit leery of the genre--solo singer/songwriter with guitar, not what I usually listen to. What drew me in is in some ways ineffable--a beautiful deep voice, haunting memorable tunes, and lyrics that strike a delicate balance between sadness, cynicism and hope. I kept listening. Over and over again. Crowe’s music doesn’t just stand up to repeated listening, it begs for it. There seem to be endless levels to her songs, growing complexities in her lyrics, and music that brings me back like an addict. As the title implies, This Far From Home is about longings for many faraway things. The title track aches for home (a stranger amid strangers /a stone among these stones), and On Your Way to Mars aches for a connection (you promised you would write me/I looked out for a card/ But here I am, wondering where you are). “Heartache is my specialty,” and there are a lot of songs of heartache here. But heartache is a complicated thing and Crowe doesn’t shy away from any of it: songs about dead loved ones, caring for the ill, as well as the longings of a woman waiting for a new life to begin. Underlying all of this is a sensibility that can’t be described as anything but spiritual. There are songs about the human condition, and two in particular on This Far From Home stand out for me as zeroing in completely on the puzzle of my life, with no questions answered. ’I think I know, I think I know/ I just can’t find a way to let it go’ ( from I Know), and ’I’d like to lift myself from this mess / I’d like to close my eyes and find I worry less / I’d like to just say yes’ (from Faithless). There is humour, too. I see it in the oblique lament of a lesbian teen knowing she can’t ever fit in: “I wish I was like the other girls/ And never longed for you’, and in the frustration of looking for meaning in the mass media.: "How do I get to the higher plain/ To accept the things I can’t explain or see/ They never show this on TV.” The title track of Crowe’s second CD, The Door to the River, plays a humorous riff on the edge of everyone’s wrenching search for mercy: “The devil woke up thirsty / With very deep desire / To call in with a fever / To walk away from fire.” I think about accessibility when I hear this, about diving into questions despite myself, about the sudden discovery that I was always wondering about these things. The Door to the River is less “produced” than This Far From Home, unusual for second albums. The vocals feel even closer, and the backup instrumentation is lovely. The heartache is still present, with all its attenuated sorrow: “Still, you do not come.” And in a delightful twist, Crowe turns it around in I’m Not There: “So don’t wait at night , don’t call my name / Don’t wistfully wonder do I look the same / The longer I live, the better I learn / There are places from which I will never return.” I have favourites already. Your One and Only Life is an anthem for living in the present. Come With Me takes an essential tension in relationships--come with me, stay with me--far beyond familiar “I’m leaving” songs, to a place where love is something other than mere devotion I haven’t had two years to live with this album the way I have had with Crowe’s first one. Right now it is nestled in the CD player, nudging its way into constant rotation. A treasure.
The Vancouver Sun, November 14, 1996
Never one to shy away from the deep end of the thinking pool, Susan Crowe cuts and pastes a seamless landscape of beautiful sounds and spectral images on this long-awaited second album. Eternal love, loss, the transient nature of reality and ever-present sin are just a few of the stops along the way on this tender journey. Fleshing out the sound into three dimensions are the sizable talents of John Reischman, Andreas Schuld, Roy Forbes, Sal Ferreras, Linda Kidder, Koralee Tonack, Brent Gubbels, Jami Sieber and Phil Robertson. The mixture of delicate acoustic sounds and haunting lyrics is a perfect partner to Crowe’s earthy voice. Soaring one minute and gliding the next, never before has her vocal talent shone as bright as it does on The Door to the River. And that, in part, is one of the problems with this outstanding acoustic concoction: it’s so level and easy to listen to, it doesn’t define itself on first spin. Only later, once you peruse the lyrics and gorge yourself on the subtle magic of the arrangements, does the record begin to make a lasting impression. After that, it just doesn’t stop surprising you with its twists of grace and passion. A soft-spoken standout for the acoustically inclined.
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bookings: susan@susancrowe.com
Festival Distribution | Susan uses Elixir Strings. |
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