Review: Jana Varga strips things back with near-acoustic new album, ‘Chicory’

Time stands still as you listen to Jana Varga‘s newly released record, Chicory. It’s like flicking through a book of poetry, each moment as enveloping as the last. Her songbird warble zips by the eardrums and attracts the listener with tasty, sweet nectar. It’s as feathery as it is sinewy; the duality of self propels her forward as she transmits stories about childhood, growth, identity, and the reverberating still you experience when you let yourself feel. A brilliant collision happens in the quietest moments in life, those realizations that change everything around you.

With the title track, Varga cracks the album wide open with pages ripped from Slovakian folklore. The tremble of a guitar rings out as a crack of thunder. The ever-expanding air grows thick. Her voice carries a particular loneliness that slowly melts into a hopeful glance to the sky overhead, where the darkened clouds have parted. Her talent shines most with songs like “Little Red Bicycle,” “Higher,” and “Fisherman’s Trade.” There’s a growing, nearly overwhelming pressure as the album unravels in her hands. “I can hear you with distortion / Line breaks up, your voice goes,” Varga whispers on “Electric River.” The subtlety of her performances can not be overstated. There’s beauty in letting the words sweep you away.

Jana Varga’s Chicory falls from her fingertips like dew drops. While thematically intense, the album is never so overpowering as to suffocate. It’s a breathy, luminescent meditation on the complexities of existence without sacrificing the richness of music itself. Where “Wait for Me” exudes a soothing silkiness, the torchy “Sirens” ignites a fire from within.

Featuring a slew of players that include Sam Watts, Frank Gallagher (Katie Melua), and Greg Sanders, Chicory accomplishes exactly what Varga intended. Compositions are methodically planned, but the execution sees the singer and songwriter letting go and flying free. It’s almost like experiencing a Joni Mitchell album – with its timeless melodic nature and hyper-focus on the music telling the story. Varga is simply a conduit for something far greater than herself. She hooks you in until the very last breath in “Oh Light,” an evocative sigh that relinquishes the album into the ether. It’s no longer hers; it now belongs to nature itself.

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