Sandra-Mae Lux is back with a lesson in subtle sophistication. The latest and what turned out to be the final single from a three-year labor of love, "Everyone Else Knew," is a stunningly intimate jazz ballad that seems to loom large in comparison with the excellent standards of the 1920s through the '50s.
Accompanied only by Rob Barron's glistening piano and Calum Gourlay's warm, earthy bass, Sandra-Mae Lux doesn't require anything else to tell a tale that will sting all too familiar to anyone who's ever loved blindly. Her voice is fragile but certain, heartbreakingly unvarnished and sophisticated simultaneously, rising gently over the spare arrangement like a letter that has sat unopened for too long.
"Everyone Else Knew" is a tale of romantic betrayal, not of finding out you've been wronged but of receiving the brutal news that you were the one who didn't get the memo. Lux does not dramatize the pain but approaches it with quiet awe. The emotions are real and lived in and linger like the scent of someone just exiting the room.
What rises above sorrow in this ballad is a spirit of determination. The song does not wallow. By the time we're through, there's a subtle but definite change as our protagonist, who was lost within the haze of her own hurt, has gained clarity and is reclaiming the pen to write the next chapter of her existence. That arc between confusion and empowerment is Lux's greatest strength.
The track hints at a bygone age of storytelling in song but doesn't sound dated. Instead, it sounds timeless. The clarity of the setting helps give power to every note, sigh, and word. It's a scene in a movie you didn't know you were the star of.
In "Everyone Else Knew," Sandra-Mae Lux is not simply reviving the golden age of songwriting but making her own contribution. In a matter of minutes, she proves that emotional honesty, when accompanied by musical restraint and vocal finesse, can still stop us in our tracks.
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