Royal Blue, the second album by East Nashville firebrand Lilly Hiatt, is about the majesty of melancholy—or, as she explains it, “accepting the sadder aspects of life and finding some peace in them.” A dance between pedal steel and synths, the album examines the vagaries of love and commitment but steadfastly refuses to romanticize any notion of romance. Singing in a barbed lilt full of deep worry and gritty determination in equal measure, she conveys emotions too finely shaded to be easily named, yet will be familiar to any listener who’s had their heart broken—or has broken a heart.
This is, in other words, not a well-behaved singer-songwriter album. Instead, it’s feisty and rough-around-the-edges, full of humor and bite and attitude from a woman who proclaims, “I’d rather throw a punch than bat my eye.” Royal Blue hints at autobiography without sounding self-absorbed, as Lilly transforms a rough patch of life into smart, sturdy, sometimes even hilarious songs that don’t sit squarely in any one genre. Instead, Royal Blue reaches out boldly and playfully into many different sounds and styles: Austin folk rock, Pacific Northwest indie, pre-Oasis Britpop, New York punk ca. 1977. There are ‘90s alt guitars and ’00 indie synths, some twang and some Neko Case and Kim Deal.
Setting the tone for the album, “Far Away” marries a shimmery Cure synth theme to a steady rock-and-roll backbeat, as Lilly explains the devastating realities of a love gone sour: “I have never felt more far away than when you were right here.” When she delivers a volley of ooo-ooo-ooohs on the coda, it’s hard to tell whether she’s lamenting her loss or proclaiming her freedom. Even at its most personal, Royal Blue remains complicated and often contradictory. The surging surf-country number “Machine” hints at rebellious adolescence while “Somebody’s Daughter” is a nod to Lilly’s songwriting father, John Hiatt.
Lilly’s songs are equal parts romantic autopsy and acid kiss-off to a dismissive lover. He shows up again on the fidgety “Get This Right,” with its insistent drum patter, churning guitars, and anthemic chorus. “When you turn your lamp off, please hear my sweet, soft voice,” Lilly sings over the gentle acoustic strums and Doppler-effect synths on “Your Choice.” Then she adds, with startling finality, “You made your choice.” Royal Blue is not your typical break-up album, though. Lilly would rather rock than mope.
by it naturally shouldn’t imply that it’s all easy for her. Her father is a famously eclectic singer-songwriter whose tunes have been covered by Emmylou Harris, Nick Lowe, Willie Nelson, and Bob Dylan, among others. Living just outside of Nashville, he provides gentle counsel and sage advice to his daughter. “I’d be a fool not to take it,” she says. “We have a really good relationship, and there’s a lot of trust there, so I feel comfortable talking to him about certain songwriting predicaments. I played him some songs I was trying to write, and he said, these are really good, but it sounds like you’re trying to do something different. You don’t have to come up with special chords or anything. Why don’t you just be you? That was simple advice, but good advice.”
Lilly being herself means playing songs that are sharply witty, brutally frank, and musically adventurous. In that regard, her backing band has proved crucial in helping her realize her full potential as a songwriter and performer. The group has been playing and touring with her for years, and they played on her 2012 debut, Let Down. “We’re tougher now with a new confidence in our playing,” she says of the band, which includes Beth Finney on lead guitar, Jake Bradley on bass, Luke Schneider on pedal steel guitar and Jon Radford on drums.
It helps that they all share a love of ‘90s alt-rock bands, which comes through in the distressed guitars, the urgent backbeats, and the post-punk synths. Lilly cites the Pixies and the Breeders as influences on this record, as well as Dinosaur Jr. and—her all-time faves—Pearl Jam. The group recorded these dozen songs at Playground Sound, a small studio located in producer Adam Landry’s backyard in Nashville.
“I know Adam and am a fan of his work,” Lilly says. “I also knew he did analog recording, which excited me. I wanted to try that.” She chose Landry because he was a versatile rock producer who has worked with Deer Tick, T. Hardy Morris of Dead Confederate, and Hollis Brown. “Sometimes I think it might be easy to take my songs to Twang Town, if someone wanted to, but they’re not country songs. I had a feeling Adam would bring out other things in the music. Which is exactly what he did.”
In the studio, Adam credits Lilly with being game for anything: “She would be playing electric guitar with her band, and I’d be in the control room running the tape machine. I had an old KORG polysynth plugged into a Memory Man. I reached over and started playing it, and she didn’t miss a beat. She’d just go with it. She trusted me and was open-minded, and I think that helped create that sort of late ‘80s/early ‘90s vibe on the record.” But it all comes down to the songs themselves. “A killer backing track and a killer vocal can be totally ruined by really stupid lyrics,” says Adam, who was drawn to the stark candor of Lilly’s songwriting. “She’s just real honest. That’s the big thing here.”
“That’s the only way I know how to write as of now,” she admits. “Maybe that will change, because writing always does, and maybe I’ll learn to take myself out of it a little more and embellish the details. But right now I don’t know any other way. I hope people don’t think, wow, she really has some issues. But you know what? If they do, that’s fine, too. I have a hard time saying a lot of things in life, so it’s easier to do it through the song. It’s a healthy coping process for me.
Description provided by artist representative