When I first heard (and began to digest) Regina Spektor's Soviet Kitsch, I was fairly certain that she was headed towards fame. Imaginative songwriting, vocal quirks, winding melodies, fantastic piano, a gorgeous voice, drumstick-on-chair percussion — what's not to love?
Nothing is my answer. Above all of the 'features' of Spektor's music there's this: the vocal caress. It's as though she cradles the syllables in her mouth before releasing them into the air. This close relationship with the language adds to the overall intimacy of the listening experience.
To go along with the vocal caress, Soviet Kitsch was chock full of great songs. The same can be said for Begin To Hope. From the opening "Fidelity," a muse on love, music, and ideas (are they the same?), to the closing "Summer In The City" — which camouflages some disturbing thoughts with pretty piano and voice — it's clear that Spektor's sharp musical mind still has a lot to offer.
Take "That Time": the musical motif leaves the piano aside for a snotty guitar figure (much like "Your Honor," that mid-album punkish explosion from Soviet Kitsch). The story begins sort of freakishly with "Hey, remember that time when I found the human tooth... down on Delancy?", and moves toward the sultry: "Hey, remember that time we decided to kiss anywhere except the mouth?", and lands in the land of realism and discomfort: "Hey, remember that time you OD'd?" Not your normal pop song.
Begin To Hope holds many more surprises: "On The Radio", with its pizzicato violins and great story-song fragment "On the radio, you'll hear 'November Rain.' That solo's awful long, but it's a great refrain." "Hotel Song," which builds a whole new song around "Just One Look." The anthemic "Apres Moi." The beautiful celesta-into-piano introduction to "20 Years Of Snow."
Oh yea, the vocal caress? Plenty of them including "Samson" ("You are my sweetest downfall"), "Fields Below" ("And so the day starts out so slow..."), and "Lady" ("They don't laugh at jokes, they laugh at tragedy").
Begin To Hope has a little less of the cabaret-ish qualities of Soviet Kitsch, leaning toward more of a pop sound. Still, her music has much more in common with the weirder aspects of Tori Amos and Bjork than any mainstream pop artist.
As far as fame goes, a review of a recent Boston-area show indicates that Spektor has moved from tiny clubs to the theatre level. The sold out crowd was said to be respectful and ravenous. You can trust those people.
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