The incongruity between Shannon Wright's physical presence and what issues from her mouth and mind can be shocking: She's a slight woman, but her voice booms with such nerve and passion that it's sometimes difficult to believe she's made of flesh and bone. It wasn't always that way, though. Wright's introduction came via the largely forgotten Florida band Crowsdell, whose palatable indie-jangle only hinted at the fire brewing in its singer. As a solo artist, she's burned an increasingly rough path, conjuring and confronting difficult emotions with uneasy songs that can be alternately breathtaking and impossible.
Wright's fourth full-length album, Over The Sun, is as far removed from her tuneful debut, Flightsafety, as that album was from her Crowsdell days. Over The Sun almost entirely ditches the bleary-sunny moments she once visited, mostly leaving a glowering batch of unrelenting confessionals that should quickly chase off anyone who doesn't enjoy a challenge. Like a brutal winter, Over The Sun offers little relief, but can prove fulfilling from the other side.
On her previous album, 2001's Dyed In The Wool, Wright fleshed out her songs with talented players (including members of Rachel's and June Of 44), but on Over The Sun, she returns to playing nearly every instrument alone: Apart from drummer Christina Files and engineer Steve Albini, Wright is the only person credited on the disc. So, nearly alone, Wright bashes through almost all of the album's nine tracks, rarely coming up for air: "If Only We Could" spits anger like early PJ Harvey, while "Portray" ends with a scratchy guitar dirge. Over The Sun could have used a few more moments like the mid-album breather "You'll Be The Death," in which Wright answers confusion with more sadness than anger. It's a welcome respite in an album full of crashing emotion that, though believable and rewarding, can make for some seriously uneasy listening.