- There’s a moment, just a moment, in the long, slow lilt of I Don’t, a song that moseys through the middle of Susie Scurry’s new EP, out of the rustling of the hushed, brushed snares and Scurry’s half-whispered vocals. Piano chords ring quietly, like bells in the breeze and the string section you never knew was there is only just audible now, but because of that is all the more transporting.
The beauty of The Elvis Hour is a subtle one indeed, much more so even than Scurry’s debut, that self-titled record under old moniker, The Grand Magoozi. I’d describe the opening incline of this EP as a slow burn, but for many listeners it may actually fail to ignite at all, which would be a real shame, because, once again, Scurry, hiding her light under a bushel, has hidden some very special things away in here.
The opening and title track says quite a lot about Susie’s condition, I think. “Another Sunday evening / I get that lonely feeling / Time to put myself away.” So What does lonely-hearts Susie do with herself? Why she nerds out about Elvis. Tuning in to the AM radio classic, the fondly remembered Elvis Hour and reliving all the different eras of the king. “There wasn’t much he didn’t do / For a man who died at forty-two.” The song dives into a soft rush as Scurry shares all the exciting details. Even with all the King's various career chapters, it doesn’t sound much like any of his back catalogue. Instead, the gentle steel and acoustic guitar make a country-folk-pop, which, when tricked out with all those accompaniments -surges of backing choir and strings- sounds like the lush Hollywood fare that Burt Bacharach created in his early prime. Lush it is, too and yet, somehow, it remains the gentlest thrill, just a ripple that, like Elvis, could remain Susie Scurry’s private obsession.
The same is true of the deliberately restrained yearning of Waiting For You. It’s the whole point: a woman left alone, waiting for her man. Patience, patience, endless patience. “Now the light slowly starts to dim / And the night just settles in / As I wait for you.” If you think that’s a bit draining, try dragging it out to the lightly medicated eight minutes of break-up song that is I Don’t. Susie’s vowels elongate till she starts to sound a bit like the super-mannered Aldous Harding, everything pulled gently out of shape, like your perception was blurring at the corners as you nod off to sleep. Thing is, it’s neither tedious, nor sleep-inducing. Time does indeed get warped out of shape, but only because the best part of ten minutes seems like three and when the piano tinkles in, it’s the subtlest magic.
The whispered virtues of that first half of the EP are more than slightly jarred with the sudden jolt into I Wonder, launching into perfectly serviceable Appalachian folk, which is, nonetheless quite unexpected at this point. Daddy’s Guitar reins things back a little and fits the mood better with a classic, acoustic country ode to watching your childhood burn down in a house fire that takes everything, right down to Dad’s treasured guitar. It’s a fine song, especially the gorgeously ornamented vocal harmonies of the chorus Speaking of beloved instruments, we return to the steel of the opening number for a neat, quiet, instrumental outro on Shez’s Lapsteel.
I’m reaching for the thesaurus and digging through to find more synonyms for quiet, because every aspect of The Elvis Hour is begging for them. If it weren’t for glints of gold, like that transformative moment on I Don’t, I might never have returned to appreciate the true qualities of this record. Susie Scurry is a truly accomplished musician and songwriter whose work, much like, say, Ainslie Wills, doesn’t immediately catch the ear. It’s all the more revelatory when its full value becomes apparent. Much like Susie cooped up in her living room on a Sunday night and glued to AM radio, you’ll discover an under-appreciated musical wonder hidden away in The Elvis Hour.
- Chris Cobcroft.