Amy Correia’s debut album Carnival Love may not be an instant favorite, but with some fine-tuning Correia could become one of the premier songwriters of her generation.
Correia grew up in the small town of Lakeville, Mass., and created a carnival in her mind during an uneventful childhood. According to Correia’s Web site, an older cousin from New York City introduced her to the music of The Beatles and other music legends, which made her feel like a “small town hick,” so at 17 she packed her bags and moved to New York to attend college and “be somebody.”
Two years later, a back injury forced her to remain in bed for two months. During that time, she taught herself to play the guitar and begin writing songs, no doubt borrowing from her real and imagined childhood experiences.
Fast forward to 2001, when after many gigs in small, smoky clubs and a move across the
country, 32-year-old Correia has released a worthwhile album. At once pensive and fun, Carnival Love is one of those albums that gets better and better each time you listen to it.
The lyrics are contagious and the music is interesting. Correia experiments with the mandolin and ukulele in many songs, which makes for some original compositions. Unfortunately, the album at times seems stuck in a small room where only the furniture arrangement changes.
Correia’s songwriting skills are the album’s star feature. The ability to tell a complete story without alienating the listener is the true test of a great lyricist, and Correia accomplishes this with almost every song. Correia, an English major in college, cites Flannery O’Connor, James Joyce and Paul Simon among her influences. Those are big shoes to fill and Correia makes an impressive effort.
A prime example of this is one of my favorite tracks, a song called “The Bike.” In this song, Correia has inherited a 1952 Sears Roebuck bicycle from her late great uncle Pat.
In just under five minutes, we learn all about her uncle’s life and, in contrast, the joy the bicycle has brought her. This song allows us to simultaneously mourn a death and celebrate the living. Like her uncle in 1952, armed with her new bike, Correia’s life lies before her “like a platter before a king.” Correia ponders whether Pat can see her riding around town — if he can, he must be smiling.
“The Bike” is one of a handful of songs where the music works perfectly with the words to create an unforgettable tale. If Correia can do this on all of the songs, her next album will be a masterpiece.
Carnival Love is a Capitol Records release. For more information on Correia and the album, visit www.hollywoodandvine.com/amycorreia.
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